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1819. 



THE 

POEMS & SONGS 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS, 

WITH A 

£ife of tfje autfjor, 



CONTAINING A VARIETY OF PARTICULARS, DRAWN FROM SOURCES 
INACCESSIBLE BY FORMER BIOGRAPHERS. 



«0 WHICH IS SUBJOINED, 

AN APPENDIX, 

CONSISTIVG Or' A 

PANEGYRICAL ODE, 

ANli 

A DEMONSTRATION OF BURNS* SUPERIORITY TO EVERY 
OTHER POET AS A WRITER OF SONGS, 

BY 
THE REV HAMILTON PAUL, 

MINISTER OF BROUGHTON, GLENHOLM & KILBUCH*. 



AIR: 
FRINTEB- BY WILSON, M'CORMICK & CAXNIE. 

1819.. 
f 






OBnteieti in Stationers JpaU. 




J 



CONTENTS. 

► Page 
* Introductory Ode, by the Rev. H. Paul - x 
; The Life of Robert Burns l 
- Preface to the First Edition of Burns' Poems, pub- 
lished at Kilmarnock - xiv 
; Dedication of the Second Edition of the Poems 
| formerly printed. To the Noblemen and Gen- 
tlemen of the Caledonian Hunt - - xlvii 

POEMS. 

The Twa Dogs, a Tale - - - - - 1 

Scotch Drink 7 

1 The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer to the 

Representatives in the House of Commons, 

with a Postscript ----- 10 

The Holy Fair 15 

Death and Di: Hornbook - 22 
The Brigs of Ayr, a Poem inscribed to 

j # b*********, Esq. Ayr 27 

The Ordination 3:5 

The Calf. To the Rev. Mr. 37 

Address to the Deil - - - - 38 

The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie 41 

Poor Mailie's Elegy ----- 43 

To J. S**** • 45 

A Dream 49 

The Vision 53 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly 

Righteous ------ 60 

Tam Samson's Elegy - - - - - 62 

The Epitaph 64 

Halloween - - > - 65 
The Auld Farmer's New- Year Morning Saluta- 
tion to his Auld Mare Maggie 73 
To a Mouse, on turning her up in her nest with 

the Plough, November 1785 76 
A Winter Night - - - - - 77 
Epistle to Davy, a Brother Poet 80 
The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate is- 
sue of a Friend's Amour 84 
Despondency, an Ode - - - 86 
Winter, a Dirge ----- 88 
The Cottar's Saturday Night ii*. 
a 2 



IV CONTENDS. 

Page 
Man was made to Mourn, a Dirge - - 93 
A Prayer in the prospect of Death - - 95 
Stanzas on the same occasion - - 96 
Verses left by the Author, in a Room where he 
slept, having lain at the House of a Reve- 
rend Friend --.-_. 97 
The First Psal m - - ib. 
A Prayer, under the pressure of violent anguish 98 
The first Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm - 99 
To a Mountain Daisy. On turning one down 

with the Plough, in April 1786 - - ib. 

To Ruin 101 

To Miss L , with Beattie's Poems as a New 

Year's Gift, Jan. 1, 1787 - - - 102 

Epistle to a Young Friend - ib. 

On a Scot jh Bard, gone to the West Indies 104 

To a Haggis - 105 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton. Esq. - 107 

To a Louse, on a Lady's Bonnet at Church 110 

Address to E liuburgh - - - - 112 

Epistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard - 113 

To the Same 117 

To W. S.*****n, Ochiltree, May, 1785 with P. S. 119 

Epistle to J. R****** enclosing some Poems 124 

John Barleycorn, a Ballad - - - 126 

A Fragment - 128 

Song. — It was upon a Lammas night - - 130 

Song, composed in August - 131 

Song — Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows 132 

Green grow the Rashes, a Fragment - - 133 

Song — Again rejoicing nature sees - - 134? 

Song — The gloomy night is gathering fast - 135 

Song — From thee, Eliza, I must go 136 
The Farewell to the Brethren of St. James's 

Lodge, Tarbolton - 137 
Song — No Churchman am I for to rail and to 

write 138 

Written in Friar's Carse Hermitage, on Nith- 

side 139 

Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson - - 140 

The Epitaph 143 

Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, on the ap- 
proach of Spring ib. 



CONTENTS. V 

Page 

On the death of Sir James Hunter Blair - 145 

To Robert Graham, Esq. of Fintra . - 146 

Lament for Jarnes, Earl of Giencairn - - 149 

Tarn O'Shanter, a Tale - - - - 151 
On seeing a wounded Hare limp by me, which 

a fellow had just shot at - - - - 15S 
Address to the Shade of Thomson, on crown- 
ing his Bust at Ednam, Roxburghshire, 

with Bays - - - - -- 157 

EPITAPHS, &c. 

On a celebrated Ruling Elder - 158 

On a Noisy Polemic ----- ib. 

On Wee Johnnie ----- ib. 

For R. \. Esq. ------ ib. 

For G. H. Esq. - - - - - ib. 

For the Author's Father ... - ib. 

A Bard's Epitaph ----- 159 

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES OF POETRY. 

Oh the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations 
through Scotland, collecting the Antiquities 
of that Kingdom - - - - - 160 

To Miss Cruikshanks, a very young Lady. 
Written on the blank leaf of a Book, pre- 
sented to her by the Author - - - 161 

On reading in a Newspaper the Death of 
John M'Leod, Esq Brother to a young 
Lady, a particular Friend of the Author's 162' 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the 

Nobie Duke of Athoie - - - - 163 

On scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch-Turit 165 

Written with a Pencil, standing by the Fall of 

Fyers, near Loeh-ness - - - - 165 

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child. Born 

in peculiar Circumstances of Family Distress 167 

The Whistle, a Ballad - - . 168 

Second Epistle to Davie - - 170 

Song — In Mauchiine there dwells six proper 

young Belles - - - -• 172. 

Written on a blank leaf of a Copy of the 
Poems presented to an old Sweetheart then 
married - - ib. 

The Joily Beggars - - - - - ib. 

a 3 



IV CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Kirk's Alarm— a Satire - - - 181 

The Twa Herds - - - - - 183 

Holy Willie's Prayer 186 

Epitaph on Holy Willie - - - - 188 

The Inventory 189 

The Henpeck'd Husband .... 191 

Address to an illegitimate Child - ib. 

Epigram .-...-. 192 

Elegy on the year 1788 - ib. 
Verses written on the window of the Inn at 

Carron - - - - - - 19i 

Lines at the Meeting of the Dumfries shire 

Volunteers ...... ib. 

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer - ib. 

On my Early days - „ - - - 196 

The Farewell 197 

SONGS. 

The Lea Rig 198 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee thing - - 199 

Bonnie Lesley ._..-- ib. 

To Mary - 200 

Highland Mary ib. 

To Mary in Heaven ----- 201 

My Mary's no more 202 

The Lass o' Baiiochmyle .... 203 

Auld Rob Morris 204 

Duncan Gray ...... ib. 

O Poortith cauld, and restless love - - 205 

Galia Water 206 

Lord Gregory 207 

M try Morison ------ ib. 

Wandering Willie - 203 

Open the door to me, oh ! . - - » 209 

Jessie ib. 

When wild W r ar*s deadly blast was blawn - 210 

Meg G' the Mill 211 

Farewell thou Stream that winding flows 

Blythe hae 1 been on yon bill ... ib. 

O L >g n, sweetly didst thoa glide - - 213 

Bonnie Jean ..-.-- 214? 

Phiilis the Fair - - ~ - - - 215 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore - 216 

Bjr Allan stream I chanc'd to rove ib- 



BONTENTS. 



Vli 



O whistle and I'll come to you, my lad 
Adown winding N : it!i I did wander 
Come, let me take thee to my breast 

Dainty Davie 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive - 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 

Auld Lang Syne .... 

Bannock- Burn — Bruce's address to his army 
Fair Jenny ------ 

Thine am I, my faithful fair - 
Husband, husband, cease your strife - 
Wilt thou be my dearie - 

Banks of Cree 

Verses to a young Lady, with a present of 

Thomson's Songs - 
On the Seas and far away 
Hark ; the mivis' evening sang 
She says she io'es me best of a' 

Saw ye my Phely? - - - 

How long and dreary is the night 

Let not woman e'er complain 

The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress 

My Chi oris, mark how green the groves 

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks - - 

O Phiily, happy be that day 

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi* mair 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 

My N T maie's avva - 

For a' xh it and a' that - 

■Sweet fa's the eve on Crai^ie-burn 

Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? - 

Her Ans.ver — - ; tell m me o' wind and rain" 
Address to the Wood-Lark ... 

On Chloris being ill - 

Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands 

reckon - 

*Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin 
How cruel are the parents .... 

1 see a form, I see a face 

To Mr. Cunningham — Vow Spring has clad. &c. 
O bonnie was yon rosy brier 
'Tis friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend 
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near 



rage 

217 
213 
219 

ib. 
220 

ib. 
221 
222 

ib. 
223 

ib. 
224. 
225 

ib. 
226 
227 
228 
229 

ib. 
230 

ib. 
231 
232 

ib. 
234? 

ib. 
235 

ib. 
236 
237 
238 

ib. 
239 



240 

ib. 

241 

242 

243 

ib. 

241. 



CONTENTS. 



Last May a braw wooer came down the Jang glen 

Fragment — Why, why tell thy lover 

Hey for a lass wi' a tocher 

Altho' thou maun never be mine 

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear 

The Birks of Aberfeldy 

Stay my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Strathallan's Lament 

The Young Highland Rover 

Raving Winds around her blowing 

Musing on the roaring ocean 

Blythe was she 

A Ro>e-bud by my early walk 

Where braving angry Winter's storms 

Tibbie, I hae seen the day 

Ciarinda 

The Day returns, ray bosom burns 

The Lazy Mist 

O, were I on Parnassus' hill 

I love my Jean 

The braes o' Ballochmyle' . 

Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 

The blue- eyed lassie 

The banks of Nith 

John Anderson my jo 

Tam Glen 

My tocher's the jewel 

Then guidwife count the lawin 

What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man 

The bonnie wee thing 

O, for ane and twenty, Tam ! 

Be-os and her spinning wheel 

Country Lassie 

Fair Eiza 

The Posie 

The Banks o' D ) >n 

Sic a wife as Aillie had 

Gloomy December 

Evan Banks 

Wilt thou be my dearie 

•She's fair and fause 

Afton Water 

Bonnie Bell 



CONTENTS. 

The gallant Weaver 

Louis, what reck I by thee ? 

For the sake of Somebody 

The lovely lass of Inverness 

The Mother's Lament for the death of her son 

VI ay, thy morn 
O, wat ye wha's in yon town f 
A red, red rose 
A Vision 
Up in the morning early 

1 dream'd I Jay where flowers were springing 
Beware o' Bonnie Ann 
Bonnie Mary 

There's a Youth in this City 
My Heart's in the Highlands 
The Rantin Dog the Daddie o't. 
Craigie-Burn Wood 
I do confess thou art so fair 
Yon wild Mossy Mountains . 
Wha is that at my Bower Door ? 
My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick 

border o' 
Though cruel fate should bid us part 
Fragment — One night as I did wander 
Fragment — There was a lad was born in Kyle 
Fragment — When first I came to Kyle-Stewart 
Fragment — Although my bed were in yon 

muir . ...... 

Fragment — O raging fortune's with'ring blast 

Ae fond kiss and then we sever 

Yestreen I had a pint of wine 

Caledonia . . 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair 

O wha is she that lo'es me 

Jockey's taen the parting kiss 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's- form 

The Dei) cam fiddling thro' the town 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass 

The banks of the Devon 

The Chevalier's lament 

On a bank of flowers 

Appendix 

Glossary 



IX 

Page 

270 
271 

ib. 

ib. 
272 

ib. 
273 
274 

ib. 
275 
276 

ib. 
277 

ib. 
278 

ib. 
279 
280 

ib. 
281 

282 

283 

284 

ib. 

285 

ib. 

286 

ib. 
287 

ib. 
289 
290 
291 

ib. 

ib. 
292 
293 

ib. 
294 
295 
313 



INTRODUCTORY ODE, 

BY THE 

REV. H. PAUL, 1819. 



Not with more joy the cottage fair, 

Whose bosom love refines, 
The flow'ry garland for her hair 

With rosy finger twines, 
Than I, this hawthorn shade beneath, 

Whose blossoms bend the bough, 
While fragrant zephyrs round me breathe, 
Inweave the panegyric wreath 

To deck the Poet's brow. 

Not with more joy the faithful youth 

Folds in his bridal arms 
The fair, who, to his plighted truth, 

Resigns her blooming charms, 
Than I, at rise or fall of day, 

Clasp to my breast, by turns, 
The volumes, which embrace the lay 
Of lorn love, or effusion gay, 

Breath'd from the soul of Burns. 

Then come, ye lovely virgin throng, 

That grace the banks of Ayr, 
Or roam Doon's bonnie braes among. 

While Nature's face is fair ; 
Come, and I'll lead you to the vale, 

Where flowers perennial spring, 
And perfumes sweeter far exhale, 
Than those which the Sabean gale,. 

Bears on his balmy wing — 



INTRODUCTORY ODE. XI 

Nor you, with many a furrow'd line, 

Whose cheeks are wrinkled o'er, 
Forget how once at beauty's shrine 

Ye gloried to adore ; 
But oft revolve the moral page, 

Which eild and poortith mourns ; 
Or listen to the counsels sage, 
Or tales to soothe the woes of age, 

Penn'd by the hand of Burns. 

Your sense and lair I envy not, 

Whose upcast jaundic'd eye 
Perceives an universal blot 

In our poetic sky ; 
Your blood is cold, your pulse is still, 

Your stream of life scarce flows, 
But stagnates like a frozen rill, 
Of Love the pure, the tender thrill, 

Your bosom never knows. 

You seem to think, a lengthen'd face, 

Whence every smile is driven, 
Will rank you on the lists of Grace, 

As Denizens of Heaven ; 
Can peace within his bosom dwell 

Who taste and feeling spurns ? 
No — 'tis the residence of Hell, 
Whose gloom defies th' united spell 

Of Music, Song, and Burns. 

Illustrious Shades, if from the skies 

You still can bend an ear, 
Your friends' regrets, their tears and sighs, 

You will delighted hear ; 



Xll INTRODUCTORY ODE. 

Oft ! when you linger'd here below, 

We spent the social hour, 
And while we felt the genial glow, 
Bade for his fate our sorrows flow, 
Within his native Bower : 

And you, who in the vale of years 

Are to our wishes left, 
Of you — say our foreboding fears., 

We soon will be bereft; 
I've pour'd the melancholy strain 

O'er many timeless urns, 
But oh ! comparisons are vain, 
• For all the pleasure and the pain 

Are swallow'd up in Burns. 



THE 

LIFE 

or 

ROBERT BURNS. 



XT is not from contemporary praise or blame that 
we can fairly estimate the merit or demerit of a cha- 
racter. It is not till the objects of panegyric or ani- 
madversion are sleeping with their fathers, and the 
passions which had been excited by difference of sen- 
timent in respect to politics, opposition with regard to 
religious opinions, emulation in the pursuit of literary 
fame, or rivalship in love, are lulled to rest, that men 
are capable of surveying with Calm and unprejudiced 
minds the deformity, or contemplating with unjaun- 
diced eyes the beauty of the moral scene—or that we 
can hope to obtain from the Biographer, or general 
Historian, an impartial view of human affairs, or a 
faithful delineation of the characters of men. Hence, 
it not unfrequently happens, that the most enlightened 
statesmen, the most liberal divines, and the most up- 
right moralists, are branded with every mark of infamy 
— while the vilest traitors, the basest hypocrites, and 
the most furious zealots, are invested with every virtue 
under Heaven, by the partial tongue or the venal pen. 

It need not, therefore, furnish matter of astonish- 
ment, that a character, the lines of which are so deep- 
ly imprinted and so various as that of Robert Burns, 
should not yet, after an interval of twenty years, be 
t b 



11 THE LIFE OP 

susceptible of impartial definition, or that a pheno- 
menon in the poetical department of literature, should 
be viewed in different lights by different observers of 
human conduct. 

So apt is religious enthusiasm to warp the under- 
standing, that we have heard men, calling themselves 
evangelical, maintain, that good poetry and vicious 
sentiments are incompatible, and that none but a vir- 
tuous character can lay claim to the title of a good 
poet. 

So much has already been said and written on the 
subject of this memoir, that it may be deemed super- 
fluous in us, on offering a new Edition of his Poems to 
the public, to give them any thing but an abridged 
sketch of the short life of this singularly endowed man, 
and truly accomplished Poet. But if we can show 
this luminary of wit and genius in a different phasis 
from what he has already been displayed in, we shall 
not consider the devoting of a few pages to the sub- 
ject, a work of supererogation. 

Robert Burns, the eldestson of William Burnes, 
originally from Kincardineshire, was born on the 25th 
of January, 1759, in that Cottage which, with its neigh- 
bours Allowa* Kirk and the Auld Brig o' Doon, have 
acquired celebrity, as forming principal features of that 
charming portion of the classic ground of Caledonia. 
The Cottage is situated about two miles to the south 
of the town of Ayr, on the side of the road which runs 
through the district of Carrick to Portpatrick. The 
walls were originally of mud, and contained an apart- 
ment at each end, called a Butt and a Ben.* 

William Burnes .emigrated from his native county, in 
which his condition was that of a peasant or farmer of 
the lowest rank, in search of employment as a garden- 

Koie. That is, a without and a within. " Comebe-m, go be-out." 



ROBERT BURNS. ill 

er. His first employer in Ayrshire was the Laird of 
Fairlie, from whom he transferred his services to Mr. 

Crawford, of Doonside He afterwards took a feu of 

seven acres of land from Dr. Campbell, Physician in 
Ayr, and commenced the business of a Nurseryman. — '. 
At this period (1757) he married Agnes brown, having 
previously built, with his own hands, the Cottage al- 
ready mentioned ; but he was scarcely entered on his 
occupation as a Public Gardener, when he relinquished 
it for the service of Mr. Fergusson of Doonholm, by 
whom he was engaged in the capacity of Horticultural 
Overseer. Still, however, he resided in the Cottage, 
which was not far distant, and which, at the epoch of 
his undertaking the duties of his new vocation (1759) 
became the scene of our Poet's Birth. William Burnes 
being a man of tolerable education, strong good sense, 
and respectable attainments in religion and morals, was 
at considerable pains in forming the hearts and evolv- 
ing the intellectual faculties of his children. Robert, 
when six years of age, was sent to a school at Alloway 
Mill, about a mile distant, but his progress here was 
interrupted by the appointment of the Schoolmaster. 
whose name was Campbell, to a situation in the work- 
house of Ayr. To supply this want, William Burnes 
became one of an association of neighbours, who en- 
gaged Mr. Murdoch to teach their families, at a spe- 
cified salary, he living alternately in the houses of his 
employers. Under the tuition of this Gentleman, 
Robert acquired reading, writing, and English gram- 
mar, in all of which his proficiency was gratifying to 
his Teacher. 

William Burnes having, in 1766, taken a lease of the 
Farm of Mount-Oliphant from Mr. Fergusson, and 
entered on possession, his family were deprived of Mr. 
Murdoch's superintending care. 

During their stay at Mount-Oliphant, which ulti- 
b 2 



IV THE LIFE OF 

tnately, owing to the poverty of the soil, and want o£ 
capital, proved a ruinous concern, the family of 
William Burnes were taught, in the evenings, by their 
father himself, from whom they derived some know- 
ledge of arithmetic. 

Robert and Gilbert were sent, with a view to their 
improvement in penmanship, to the parish school of 
Dalrymple, about three miles distant. 

As their manual labour was now become of some 
avail in the farming operations, the two boys went, 
week about, to school, during the summer quarter. In 
the meantime, Mr. Murdoch, who had been engaged 
in his vocation as a teacher in Carrick, Dumfries, and 
elsewhere, was established as English Teacher, in the 
Parochial School of Ayr, an event of considerable im- 
portance to the juvenile Poet, and his brother, for, 
owing to the vicinity, Mr. Murdoch usually spent 
his holydays at Mount-OHphant, and contributed, by 
conversation and supplying them with books, to form 
the taste and enlarge the understandings of his former 
pupils. In 1773, Robert spent about three weeks in 
Ayr with Mr. ?.luruocn in revising nis grammar, and 
in the study of the French language, which proved the 
means of introducing him to the acquaintance of some 
young persons of superior refinement, especially the 
family of Dr. Malcolm, Whose sons afterwards distin- 
guished themselves in the East Indies and America 
in their military capacities. From Mr. Robertson, 
the Writing- Master in the school of Ayr, and Mr. 
Murdoch's bosom friend, Robert derived some in- 
structions with respect to acquiring, without the aid 
of a Teacher, a competent knowledge of the Latin 
tongue ; Robertson himself having attained consider- 
able eminence in that department of classical learning, 
without the assistance of a master. 

His application to this new branch of study was by 



ROBERT BURNS. V 

fits and starts. A variety of causes combined to in? 
terrupt his progress, and to impel him to relinquish the 

pursuit altogether for 

Burns had now arrived at that stage of life so in- 
teresting to the individual, which is finely described by 
Beattie on introducing his Minstrel to manhood, . 
«' And now the downy cheek and deep'ned voice 
Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime." 

Depressed as he was in spirits by incessant toil and 
family misfortune, indignant as he felt at the harshness 
of the factor, whom he has '* damned to everlasting 
fame,*' in his tale of the Twa Dogs, and tortured as 
his filial sensibilities were by the effect which approach- 
ing age and want produced on his father's mind, he 
was nevertheless tremblingly alive to those softer emo- 
tions, which the more beautiful portion of the creation 
is calculated to awaken. 

The harvest, that busy season of the year when the 
husbandman fondly looks forward to the remuneration 
of his toil, found him exerting himself to keep pace 
with his elder competitors, who were employed, agree- 
ably to the description of Thomson — 

(i Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky 

And unperceiv'd unfolds the spreading day-; 

Before the ripen'd field the Reapers stand 

In fair array, each bythe lass he loves, 

To bear the rougher part, and mitigate 

By nameless gentle offices her toil. — " 

Burns was entering on his sixteenth year. His part- 
ner on the rig was a year younger : she was '* a 
bonnie sweet sonsie lass," and, as might have been ex- 
pected, without apparent design on her part, without 
seducing demeanour on his, but merely from. the con- 
stitution of the human frame, agitated by juxta-position, 
" a mutual flame was quickly caught,'' and for the 
first time, " love slyly stole into his Dreast'' — liiis 
b3 



Vl *ft*E Llffe OF 

nymph, who was afterwards married to a Carrtcfe 
farmer, and became the mother of many sons and 
daughters, and who, when we saw her in 1811, still 
retained the characteristic of sonsieness, so fascinated 
her helpmate in the work of harvest, as to betray him 
into the sin of rhyme. She sung delightfully, and he 
wrote a copy of verses to her favourite air or reel. 

On the death of Provost Fergusson, his landlord 
and benefactor, William Burnes, availing himself of a 
'break in the lease, removed from Mount-Oliphant to 
Lochlea, in the parish of Tarbolton, where, for the 
•space of four years, fortune seemed to smile on him 
and his family ; but being involved in a lawsuit with 
the Proprietor of his farm, he was, after three years of 
litigation, relieved from all his earthly cares, and died 
of consumption on the 13th of February 1784, leaving 
his family on the brink of ruin, the process having ter- 
minated in favour of Iris antagonist. 

During the residence of the family in the parish of 
Tarbolton, Burns was the constant victim of the tender 
passion, and wore the willing fetters of some fair 
enslaver ; bat he yielded implicitly to that law of 
nature, by which every thing under the sun is liable 
to change, and which he offers, in one of his songs, as 
an apology for his inconstancy. 

It was here tha't he "first met w-ith Annie, the inter- 
view with whom, '" on a lammds night, when com rigs 
were bonnie," he has described in such voluptuous 
strains. If we may judge from her appearance at the 
commencement of this century, she was qualified to raise 
a flame in souls less combustible than that of Burns. 
There was a smiling freslmess in her looks, and she 
reminded us of the picture of " Roy's Wife df Aldivafl- 
loch," as delineated in the ballad. It was here too 
that Burns was initiated in the 'sublime mysteries of 
Masonry— an institution venerable for its .antiquity— 



ROBERT BURNS. Vlt 

WhhtWe xfti awount of the benevolence of its designs — 
and useful as a mean of diffusing a spirit 6f brotherly 
kindness and charity^-btit certainly adapted to with- 
draw the warm-hearted noviciate from the serious pur- 
suits of business, and indirectly to encourage habits of 
dissipation, though its tales are directly contrary.— 
Here also he met with that profane, witty, boon com- 
panion, John Ranken, to whom he addressed a humor- 
ous epistle in which he comically alludes to his first 
•deviation from the path of morality in a licentious 
amour, and which proved the subject of a lively pro- 
duction, " the Poet's welcome.* 1 

Finding that, in his vocation of a farmer, he could 
scarcely keep the banes green, Burns bethought himself 
of some other employment, by which he might be 
enabled to support a family, having formed the laud- 
able resolution of marrying with all convenient speech 
The rural and domestic economy at Lochlea was a 
model of perfection in regard to a country life. The 
father allowed his two sons the same wages for their 
work, as he gave to others engaged in the same oc- 
cupation — whatever articles of clothing were manu- 
factured for them in the family, these were accounted 
a part Of then- wages ; amfd though their allowance was 
scanty, yet by industry, 'frugality and sobriety, they 
contrived to make an annual saving. 

The two brothers had been 'in the practice of raising 
flax on a part of the farm, for which they paid their 
father a stipulated rent. His acquaintance with this 
species of crop induced Burns to turn his attention to 
the business of a flax-dresser. He, accordingly, enter- 
ed on the occupation, along with a practitioner in the 
art, in the town of Irvine ; but, owing to an accident 
which reduced his workshop to ashes, and himself to 
his last farthing,. he relinquished the pursuit, and re- 
turned to his father's, with a mind alienated from that 



Vlll THE LIVE OF 

sobriety of thinking, to which he had been trained by 
precept and example under the parental roof; for in 
Irvine he had met with polished characters, who effec- 
tuated a change on the rigour of his morality, and the 
austerity of his orthodoxy. 

He was about this time on the eve of matrimony with 
one, whom his fertile imagination had decorated with 
every angelic quality, and who, after pledging her vir- 
gin troth, jilted him in a manner calculated to torture 
his ardent soul, and exaggerate his constitutional me- 
lancholy. 

As William Burnes's moveables were at his death 
swallowed up in the gulf of legal expenses, his family 
entered into a joint concern, and stocked, with the 
earnings which they had accumulated by hard labour 
and thrifty management, the farm of Mossgiel, of which 
they took a subset from Gavin Hamilton, Esq. a gen- 
tleman, whose memory is still revered, on account of 
his generous and humane qualities, and for the patron- 
age which he extended towards the Bard in the early 
stages of his poetical career. 

The rent of Mossgiel was £90 per annum, and the 
cultivation was carried on by the united iabour of the 
family, consisting of three brothers and three sisters, 
who received their respective fees according to the 
rate of farm wages in the district at the time. Though 
the wages of the Poet did not, one year with another, 
amount to more than £7, yet his expenditure never ex- 
ceeded his slender income. 

Owing to the high situation and intractable soil of 
Mossgiel, in spite of the assiduous energy of the fami- 
ly compact, and in spite of the humanity of the land- 
lord, the occupants were obliged to resign the lease, 
after four years struggling with the adverse circum- 
stances of late springs and frosty autumns. 

The farm bemg situated in the neighbourhood »f 



ROBERT BURNS. IX 

Mauchline, a populous village which could boast of a 
considerable portion of female beauty, Burns found se- 
veral subjects of amatory panegyric ; but he singled 
out from among the rest Jean Armour, as his darling 
and permanent theme of song. With her he formed a 
clandestine connexion, and not being in a situation to 
support her as his avowed wife, it was agreed on be- 
twixt tltem, that their marriage should be privately so- 
lemnized, and that he should go to push his fortune in 
the West Indies, and look forward to more propitious 
times. 

The parents of Miss Armour, who doated on her 
with more than ordinary fondness, on being apprized 
of her marriage, and of her situation, which could no 
longer be concealed, were thrown into a paroxysm of 
grief and frenzy, bordering on insanity; and by their 
real or well-acted sorrow, wrought on her feelings to 
such a degree, as to induce her to cancel the marriage 
lines ; and they also prevailed on Burns, though 
pierced through with the keenest anguish, to consent 
to the dissolution of the marriage. 

Dr. Douglas having kindly undertaken to send him 
Out to Jamaica in the capacity of a book-keeper, or 
assistant to his brother in that Island, Burns was 
advised by his friend, Mr. Hamilton, to improve the 
intervening time, and to publish his poems by subscrip- 
tion. He followed the advice, and accordingly the 
first edition of his poems was printed in Kilmarnock, 
in the year 1786. The impression consisted of 600 
copies, and the number of subscribers amounted to 350, 
among whom the name of William Parker, Esq. ap- 
peared for thirty-five. 

Previous to publication, manuscript copies of several 
df the poems had been handed about, and read with 
general applause in convivial meetings ; but none con- 
tributed more to give them celebrity than the late 



X THE LIFE OF 

Robert Aiken, Esq. who, to a cultivated taste and a warm 
and feeling heart, added a powerful eloquence and an 
energetic manner of recitation. Burns, though then in 
the zenith of his poetical glory, was so sensible of this, 
that he said, " I never knew there was any merit in my 
" poems, till Mr. Aiken read me into repute." 

The Printer was not furnished with any regular ma- 
nuscript of the poems, but Burns brought them one by 
one to Kilmarnock, and after they were carefully 
pointed, they were put to press. On producing his 
Holy Fair, and the question being asked, " Burns, are 
you not afraid to use such freedom with these Gentry?'' 
meaning the Clergy, the Poet replied, " Why, as to 
my purse, you know they can make nothing of it, and 
for my person, you see," brandishing his oak stick, 
" I carry an excellent cudgel.'* The whole impression 
was quickly disposed of, and the clear profits amounted 
to twenty pounds. In his visits to Kilmarnock, the 
Poet formed many new acquaintances. It was during 
this period, that he became intimate with, and wrote 
the Elegy on Tam Samson of sporting memory. Tan* 
having reached his grand climacteric, used to say at 
the commencement o£ the shooting season, " This will 
be the last of my fields.'* He u resolved and re-resolv- 
ed," and thus afforded Burns an admirable theme for 
the exercise of his descriptive powers. When Tam 
first heard the poem read in a jovial party, he was so 
exasperated, that he made several attempts to chastise 
the Bard, who, to pacify him, wrote the concluding 
stanza, terminating with " Tam Samson's living." This 
produced the desired effect of conciliating the veteran 
sportsman, and securing to the Poet his lasting friend- 
ship. 

In Kilmarnock Burns first saw Nannie, the subject 
of one of his most popular ballads. She captivated 
him as well by the charms of her person as by the 



ROBERT BURNS. XI 

melody of her voice. As he devoted much of his spare 
time to the society of Nannie, and listened to her sing- 
ing with the most religious attention, her sister, who 
had a vein of pleasantry, observed to him, that he 
paid more attention to Nannie's singing than he would 
do to a preaching — he retorted with an oath, " Madam, 
there's no comparison." 

Having now obtained possession of what to him ap- 
peared a considerable sum of money, Burns was on the 
eve of embarking for Jamaica, when he was diverted 
from his purpose by a letter from Dr. Blacklock, who 
had become acquainted with his merit as a poet, to the 
Rev. Dr. Laurie, Minister of Loudoun. Dr. Laurie 
communicated the contents of the letter to Mr. Ha- 
milton, and he to Burns. Dr. Blacklock expressed the 
highest approbation of the poetical talents of the Ayr- 
shire Ploughman, and testified his confidence, that if a 
second edition were to make its appearance, it would 
meet with very general encouragement. The friend- 
ship of Dr. Laurie, the brotherly kindness of Mr. Ha- 
milton, and the eulogy of Dr. Blacklock, induced 
Burns to try a second and an enlarged edition of his 
poems For this purpose he repaired to Edinburgh, 
where he was introduced to many of the first charac- 
ters in the nation in point of rank and literature. The 
patronage of the Earl of Glencairn, who was a mem- 
ber of the Caledonian Hunt, led him to dedicate the 
work to that most respectable association. The adula- 
tion, the fame, the fortune, which this new edition ac- 
quired him, banished from his thoughts the plan of ex- 
changing his native air for the inhospitable climate of 
the West Indies ; paved the way for that series of im- 
prudence, and consequent misfortune, which accompa- 
nied him to the grave ; and, indeed, to use his own ver- 
nacular idiom, " laid the cap-stane o' his woes." 

In his sehool-boy days Burns might be regarded as a 



XII THE LIFE OF 

fixed star of unsullied purity. While he resided at 
Lochlea and Mossgiel, we view him in the light of a 
planet whose aberrations are scarcely discernible ; 
but we are now to contemplate him as a comet of al- 
most incalculable eccentricity. 

Before we display him in that great but dangerous 
attitude, we shall revert to certain passages of his pre- 
vious history. 

In his seventeeth year, with a view to acquire an 
easy gracefulness of manner, he went to a country 
dancing school. At the age of nineteen, he lived for 
a season with a brother of his mother in the parish 
of Kirkoswald, and attended the parochial school, at 
that time taught by an eminent teacher of the various 
branches of education, especially mathematics. Here 
he attained to tolerable proficiency in the study of 
geometry. From the celebrity of Mr. Rodgers, his 
school was well frequented, and many of Burns's con- 
temporaries were possessed ot talents, spirit and taste. 
It was a practice for the boys who were farthest ad- 
vanced in their studies, to range themselves on dif- 
ferent sides, and carry on a debate respecting some 
topic of their own choosing, or suggested by the 
teacher, who sometimes presided on the occasion, 
and sometimes took a share in the disputation; and 
when worsted, exulted in his defeat, and congratulated 
himself on the display of eloquence and logical acumen 
made by his pupils. On leaving that seminary of edu- 
cation, Burns carried on a literary correspondence 
with those of his former school-fellows to whom he 
had become attached by a congeniality of mind and 
pursuit ; and this will in some degree account for that 
excellence in epistolary composition to which he 
afterwards reached. 

The drier study of mathematics was abandoned for 
the delusions of love. A beautiful girl in the im- 



ROBERT BURNS. XIH 

mediate neighbourhood so completely engrossed his 
thoughts, as to make him fly off at a tangent from 
geometrical demonstration. It is probable she was 
the original of the following portrait, 

** Her hair is the wing of the blackbird, 
Her eye is the eye of the dove, 
Her lip is the sweet dewy rosebud, 
Her bosom's the palace of love. 
Alas ! when I sit down to study 

I now can do naething ava', 
My book I indeed keep my eyes on, 

But my thoughts are wi' her that's awa." 

This is certainly a juvenile composition, and in part 
borrowed from the ballad intitled, the " charming 
Miss Weir," 

*' O Cupid my mind it runs muddy ! 
And I fear it will never run clear, 
For whene'er I sit down to study, 

My mind runs on lovely Miss Weir." 

The improvement Burns made in mental accomplish- 
ments was counterbalanced by the encouragement he 
met with to indulge the ruling propensities of his con- 
stitution, which may be comprehended in love for the 
triad, " His dear girl, his friend and pitcher.'' 

The practice of smuggling, or the contraband trade, 
was at the height of prosperity on the Carrick shore 
about this time. Many respectable characters were 
engaged in this illicit traffic, which in those days was 
scarcely regarded as illegal, and not at all dishonour- 
able. The Farmers on the coast were in general 
possessed of old leases at a low rent. They neglected 
agriculture for the more lucrative, though less certain 
pursuit of smuggling. The influx of wealth introduced 
a laxity of morals, and a relaxation of religious strict- 
ness. They lived in a princely style, and as many of 
them had visited Bourdeaux, Flushing, Guernsey, 



XIV THE LIFE OP 

Ireland, and the Isle of Man, their manners had ac- 
quired a polish, and their hair-breadth escapes, " on 
Flood and Field, '' awakened the curiosity, and in- 
terested the inquisitive mind of Burns, ever ready " to 
catch the manners living as they rise." The naval en- 
gagements which the smugglers had had with the 
King's cruisers, the pitched battles which they had 
fought with the Revenue Officers aided by the military, 
were adventures, the detail of which opened up a 
source of entertainment to the mind of the youthful 
Bard, similar to that which he afterwards derived from 
the perusal of the novels of Fielding and Smollet. 

From scenes " of swaggering riot," as he calls them, 
Burns returned with a mind enlightened by the study 
of mankind, but in a considerable degree debauched, 
when compared to that purity of manners, which he 
had formerly exhibited in the domestic circle. The 
school exercises suggested the plan of a debating 
club in Tarbolton, and another afterwards in Mauch- 
line, the regulations of which were drawn up by 
our Poet. It was during his residence in the vicinity 
of these two villages, that in one of his rambles he 
met with " the Bonnie lass o* Ballochmyle," and 
that he had his first and last interviews with " High- 
land Mary." 

The scenery of the Ayr from Sorn to the ancient 
Burgh at its mouth, though it may be equalled in 
grandeur, is scarcely any where surpassed in beauty. 
To trace its meanders, to wander amid its green woods, 
to lean over its precipitous and rocky banks, to explore 
its coves, to survey its gothic towers, and to admire its 
modern edifices, is not only highly delightful but truly 
inspiring. If the Poet in his excursions along the banks 
of the river, or in penetrating into the deepest recesses 
of the grove, be accompanied by his favourite fair one, 
whose admiration of rural and sylvan beauty is akin 



ROBERT BURNS. XV 

to his own, however hazardous the experiment, the 
bliss is ecstatic. To warn the young and unsuspecting 
of their danger is only to stimulate their curiosity. — 
The well meant dissuasive of Thomson is more se- 
ductive in its tendency than the admirers of that poet's 
morality are aware — 

" All ! then, ye Fair, 
Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts ; 
Dare not the infectious sigh — nor in the bower, 
Where woodbines flaunt and roses shed a couch, 
While evening draws her crimson curtains round, 
Trust your soft minutes with betraying man." 

We are decidedly of opinion, that the inexperienced 
fair will be equally disposed to disregard this senti- 
mental prohibition, and to accept the invitation of 
another bard, whose libertinism is less disguised, 

" Will you go to the bower I have shaded for you ? 
Your bed shall be roses bespangled with dew." 

Let the traveller from Ayr to Mauchline pause at the 
spot where the Fail disembogues itself into the A.yr.— 
Let him take his station near the neat little cottage, 
on the sloping green at the side of the wood, and let 
him cast his eyes across the stream, where the trees 
recede from one another and form a vista, on the gray 
rocks, which, mantled over with tangling shrubs, wild 
roses, heath and honeysuckle, project from the op- 
posite side, and we will tell him, that there, or there- 
about, the Poet " took his last fareweel of his sweet 
Highland Mary.*' The Castle of Montgomery, which, 
with its " banks an' braes, an' streams around,'' forms 
a distinguished ornament of that beautifully interest- 
ing and distressingly tender ballad, is Coilsfield, one 
of the seats of the Earl of Eglinton. 

The society in Edinburgh, to which the electrical 
effect of his poems introduced this untutored prodigy, 
c 2 



XVI THE LIFE OF 

was of the most refined and fascinating description. 

With Professor Dugald Stuart he had become ac- 
quainted the preceding month at Catrine, his seat in 
Ayrshire, and he soon numbered among his patrons 
and friends, Dr. Blair, Mr. Mackenzie, Mr. Dalziel, 
&c. His Poems were recommended to public notice 
by an elegant paper in the Lounger, from the pen of 
the Man of Feeling ; and he attracted the notice of 
Lord Monboddo, Mr. Fraser Tytler, Dr. Robertson, 
Dr. Gregory, and many other distinguished literary 
characters. 

The publication proved uncommonly productive. 
He entered for a time into the dissipation of the Capi- 
tal, it being regarded as a fashionable boast by the 
noble, the learned, the gay and the fair, to have been 
in company with the Ayrshire Ploughman, the Bard 
of Coila. Resolving to avail himself of the opportunity 
which was now presented of visiting the sublime and 
beautiful scenes of Caledonia, Burns set out on a tour, 
accompanied part of the way by Mr. Ainslie, W. S. 
son of Mr. Ainslie of Berry well, in Berwickshire. The 
two friends left Edinburgh on Saturday the 6th of May 
1787, and reached Berrywell that night ; on Sunday 
they went to church at Dunse, and on Monday dined 
at Coldstream. Ii\ the course of his perambulations 
the Poet met with the most flattering reception from 
Brydone the traveller, Sir Alexander Don, Dr. Somer- 
ville, and the Magistrates of Jedburgh by whom he 
was presented with the freedom of that ancient Burgh, 
Sir James Hall, Mr. Scott of Wauchope, Dr. Elliot, 
and others. He visited Kelso, Melrose, Selkirk, Dry- 
burgh, and a variety of romantic scenes on the Tweed, 
the Teviot, and the Etterick, He afterwards crossed 
the Border, visited Alnwick Castle, Warkworth, Mor- 
peth and Newcastle. From thence he proceeded by 
Hexham and Wardrue to Carlisle. He returned to 



ROBERT BURNS. XVII 

Mossgiel by way of Annan, Dumfries, and Sanquhar, 
on the 8th of June 1787, to the no small joy of his 
mother, brothers and sisters, who regarded Inm as a 
superior being, and to whom he gave tjie most ample 
demonstrations of his unaltered filial and fraternal 
affection. Having spent a few days ami4 this happy 
domestic group, he returned to Edinburgh, and imr 
mediately set out on a new tour to the Western High- 
lands. This journey was short, extending only as far 
as Inverary by Dumbarton and Lochlomond. In a 
letter to his friend Ainslie he makes honourable men-, 
tion of highland hospitality. The month of July was 
spent in Ayrshire with his relatives and friends, an,d iir 
August he returned to Edinburgh, whence, accompani- 
ed by Dr. Adair of Harrowgate, he prosecuted a jour-, 
ney of wider circuit. Their route led them by Linlith- 
gow and Carron to Stirling, where they fell in with Mr. 
William Nicol,one of the Masters of the High School of 
Edinburgh, a man whose acquaintance proved to 
Burns a present pleasure and a future curse. From 
Stirling our tourists proceeded to Harvieston, in the 
beautiful and picturesque vale of Devon, at that time in- 
habited by the mother of his trusty friend and benefactor 
Gavin Hamilton. Here they iingered for about ten 
days, making short excursions to the romantic scenes 
in that neighbourhood, particularly Castle Campbell, 
the Rumbling Bridge, and the Caldron Linn ; and 
here Dr. Adair formed a tender attachment for Mrs* 
Hamilton's eldest daughter, with whom he afterwards 
enjoyed much conjugal felicity During this tour, 
they visited Mrs Bruce of Clackmannan, a venerable 
lady upwards of ninety years of age, who told them that 
Robert Bruce was a cadet of her family, and who in- 
vested them with the order of knighthood, by means of 
the helmet and sword of the hero of Bannockburn. 
On visiting the Abbey and Abbey-church of Dani- 
c 3 



XV111 THE LIFE OF 

fermline, Dr. Adair mounted the cutty-stool, and Burns 
from the pulpit gave him a rebuke in the style of a ca- 
ricature of that which he himself had received in com- 
mon with seven other culprits in the church of Mauch- 
line. 

In September, he made a still more extensive tour 
to the North Highlands. His travelling companion 
was William Nicol. Their journey lay through Crieff 
and by Taymouth, down the Tay to Dunkeld, thence 
to Blair, where every polite attention was shewn to the 
Poet by the noble family of Athole. They proceed- 
ed as far as Fort George, surveying in their career 
Grant Castle, Cawdor, Inverness, and the Fall of Fy- 
ers. The Poet slept one night at Brodie of Brodie's, 
and dined one day at Gordon Castle ; but having left 
Mr. Nicol with the chaise at the Inn of Fochabers, 
that high-minded man of classical erudition, indignant 
at what he termed insulting neglect, forced Burns, by 
the threat of forever withdrawing the beams of his fa- 
vour, to take an abrupt leave of the bonnie Duchess 
and her noble family. The travellers returned to 
Edinburgh along the eastern coast. In the neighbour- 
hood of Stonehive, Burns met with several of his fa- 
ther's near relatives, with whom he spent two days. 
Nicol and he reached Edinburgh on the 16th Septem- 
ber, 1787, and in " Scotia's darling seat" the Poet re- 
mained for the greater part of .the ensuing winter, 
mingling again with rank, and fashion, and beauty, and 
licentiousness, together with an occasional ebullition of 
Jacobitism. 

On winding up his accounts with Mr. Creech, his 
publisher, Burns found himself in possession of five 
hundred pounds, over and above all his necessary and 
thoughtless expenditure. He immediately remitted 
two hundred pounds to his brother Gilbert, on whom 
the charge of the family had now devolved, and who 



ROBERT BURNS. XIX 

was still struggling with difficulties at Mossgiel ; with 
the remainder, and what more might ultimately accrue 
to him from the sale of his works, he resolved to stock 
a farm, being determined to resume the pursuits of 
agriculture. His poems had recommended him to Mr. 
Millar of Dalswinton, from whom he obtained a lease 
of the farm of Ellisland, situated on the Nith, about 
eight miles above Dumfries. He entered on possession 
of his farm at Whitsunday 1788. The rent was fixed 
by two of his friends, who were intimately acquainted 
with husbandry, and who surveyed the farm at his de- 
sire. He was now also become an Expectant of a 
commission in the Excise, having been previously re- 
commended to the Board, and the recommendation 
warmly seconded by Mr. Graham of Fintry, to whom 
he had~been introduced at Blair Athole. 

Firmly resolved to bid an everlasting fVirewell to 
crowds, and courts, and foiiies, he remembered Jean, 
and by a public declaration of marriage, restored that 
peace to her bosom, and that tranquillity to his own 
mind, which for several years had been strangers there. 

He was now led to serious reflection. His wife, his 
children, the rebuilding of the farm house, and the cul- 
tivation of the fields, engrossed his attention. His ha- 
bits were entirely altered, and he was become a new 
creature. But as Mrs. Burns could not be' removed 
from her father's for a season, he paid occasional visits 
to Ayrshire ; and having to spend a night or more on 
the road, he met with good-feiiows at the several inns, 
forgot his resolutions, and relapsed into inebriety. 

Having sat down to dinner in one of these inns, 
while on his way from Ellisla id to Mauchiine, with a 
pleasant party, Burns was resolved to consecrate the 
evening to conviviality. The dinner was near a close, 
and the wit of the Bard was beginning ,to flash. He 
was struck with admiration of the Waiter, who was a 



XX THE LIFE OF 

handsome, well-dressed, active, obliging young man. 
He remarked to the company, that he had hardly ever 
seen one of a more prepossessing demeanour. One of 
the maid-servants assisted in taking away. She had a 
rencounter with the Waiter in the lobby, a gentle 
struggle took place, and the company were diverted at 
the noise of the contest, which seemed to proceed from 
an endeavour on the part of the Waiter to ravish a kiss 
from his sweet-heart. In the midst of the frolic, the 
young man instantaneously dropped down dead at the 
feet of his mistress. The sensibility of the Bard was 
touched to the quick by the distressing catastrophe, 
his wit ceased to sparkle, and he maintained a gloomy 
silence for --the remainder of the evening. 

The neighbourhood of Dumfries was both a blessing 
and a misfortune to Burns j here he met with the most 
refined, and at the same time the most dangerous soci- 
ety. To associate with the Poet was deemed a distin- 
guished honour. His company was courted — convi- 
vial parties were formed on his account — he was often 
seduced from home — the business of the farm was in a 
great measure neglected — embarrassment ensued, and 
despondency trode on its heels. 

Having acquired the requisite qualifications, Burns 
applied for employment in the Excise ; and was, by the 
interest of Mr. Graham, appointed Excise Officer or 
Guager in the district wherein he resided. His time 
was now divided between his occupation as a farmer 
and his duty as a revenue officer. At one time we find 
him in the guise of an husbandman, engaged in the 
healthful exercise of ploughing or sowing, at another 
time we hear of him in the costume of an officer of ex- 
cise, traversing the neighbouring moors, or exploring 
the glens, in quest of the receptacles of illicit distilla- 
tion, and conning over, with whimsical recollection, his 



ROBERT BURNS. XXI 

own anathema against the profession, by which he 
consigned them over to the Devil — 

" To bake them up in brunstane pies 
" For poor d d drinkers." 

The two callings were almost incompatible. To en- 
able the farmer to pay his rent, the exclusively de- 
voting of his time to the various branches of agricul- 
ture is indispensable. He must either labour with his 
own hands, or closely superintend his work people. 
He must attend markets, keep regular books of expen- 
diture and profit, and he must study the various im- 
provements in machinery, implements of husbandry, 
and modes of cultivation, calculated to abridge the 
number of operative assistants, to facilitate labour, or 
to increase produce, otherwise he may indeed exist, 
but he can hardly be said to live. To join another ac- 
tive profession with this multifarious vocation is prepos- 
terous and detrimental. Accordingly, Burns, after an 
ineffectual trial of three years and a half, renounced 
his lease, left Ellisland, and removed to Dumfries, sup- 
porting himself and his family on his salary as a sub- 
altern officer of excise, and trusting to speedy promo- 
tion for an augmentation of income. 

His hopes of promotion were, however, blasted by 
an event, which deceived many, but which to the san- 
guine mind, warm temperament, and unguarded elo- 
quence of Burns, proved extremely fatal. By an 
incongruity of character, not uncommon with exalt- 
ed genius, which spurns at vulgar rules, Burns pro- 
fessed himself a decided partizan of the dethroned 
and exiled house of Stuart, and at the same time a de- 
voted admirer of those who were instrumental in over- 
turning the legitimate throne of France. 

In clubs and convivial meetings he advocated the 
cause of certain friends of the people, to whom the 
Judges of the land, those able state physicians, recora- 



XX11 THE LIFE OF 

mended and prescribed the air of Botany Bay for a 
term of years, as an efficacious remedy for their political 
complaints. The sentiments of Burns, expressed with 
much energy and imprudence, were repeated to those 
in power, an investigation into his conduct was institut- 
ed by the Board of Excise, and though he defended him- 
self with much ability, and though nothing calculated 
to criminate him as a mover of sedition was expiscated 
by the inquiry, yet his promotion was retarded, and 
he was saved from expulsion from his office solely by 
the interest of Mr. Graham. 

In the town of Dumfries, a considerable proportion 
of our Poet's time was spent in the tavern. With a 
few exceptions, the routine of official duty could be 
accomplished in the forenoon, and the evening could 
be devoted to convivial enjoyment. The affluent, the 
idle, the curious, the men of taste and feeling, were 
ambitious of ranking among the associates of Burns> 
and of repeating to their families and friends, his flashes 
of merriment, his bursts of satire, his epigrams, and 
his eulogies. The traveller lengthened his stay in that 
delightful retreat of elegance and politeness, in order 
that he might have an opportunity of being introduced 
to the pride of Caledonia. Frequent intoxication, late 
hours, and sudden transition from the reeking bowl 
and snug parlour to the damp and chill air of mid- 
night, undermined a constitution naturally robust but 
not strong in proportion to its nervous configuration. 
He felt the approach of age before he had reached 
the noon of life, and by a kind of presentiment of 
lus own premature decay, he had previously character- 
ised forty-five as the evening of life's closing day — 

" When ance that five-and-forty's speel'd, 
" See crazy, weary, ji^-iess eild, 

" Wi' w rink I'd face, 
" Comes hostin, hirplin, owre the field, 

«* Wi' creepin pace." 



ROBERT BURNS. XX11I 

Finding medical aid of no avail, Burns retired for a 
short season to Brow, for the purpose of trying the ef- 
fects of sea-bathing. This too proved unavailing. He 
became duly sensible of his approaching dissolution, 
and on paying a forenoon's visit to one of the most sin- 
cere and amiable of his female friends, he asked her if 
she had any commands for the other world. In a few 
weeks after he became delirious by access of fever, 
and terminated his earthly course on the 21st of July, 
1796, in the thirty-eighth year of his age, and twelfth 
of his fame as a poet. 

He was interred in the church -yard of Dumfries, with 
military honours and every demonstration of sorrow 
and regret which the occasion could suggest. Every 
attention which humanity could bestow was shown to 
his family in their distressed and interesting circum- 
stances, Mrs. Burns having been delivered of a son on 
the morning of her husband's funeral ; and every ho- 
nour, short of canonization^ has been paid to his me- 
mory. 

THE PERSONAL FIGURE OF BURNS. 
In his form Burns was stout and muscular. Broad 
shoulders — manly limbs — coarse features — dark ex- 
pressive eyes and black hair, generally queued, were the 
distinguishing characteristics of his exterior. His dress 
usually consisted of snuff-brown drapery with half- 
boots. His shoulders had acquired a rotundity, or 
bend, indicative of his original occupation. His ad- 
dress demonstrated him to be, not indeed a man of 
rank and fashion, but far above the level of a plough- 
man or peasant. Even before he had an opportunity 
of conversing with the great, he displayed an inde- 
pendence of manner, and a freedom from mauvaise 
Jionte which the society of the noble neither corrupt- 
ed nor improved. 



XXIV THE LIFE OF 

THE LANGUAGE OF BURNS. 

The attainments of Burns in respect of conversational 
powers were truly astonishing. A fluent expression — 
a correct enunciation — a felicitous and emphatical 
choice of words — surprised the scholar and confound- 
ed the pedant. To the noble and the mean, the ser- 
vile and the insolent, he addressed himself in words 
exactly adapted to their characters and conditions, 
and when conveying the voice of sentiment or the 
language of love to the ears of the daughters of beauty, 
he fairly carried them off their feet. The ascendant 
which Burns acquired and maintained over the female 
heart was no inconsiderable proof of the transcendency* 
of his personal merit. No woman is naturally a prude. 
Unless they have been educated under the auspices 
of ancient maidens, who have been crossed in love, 
and who " constantly deave them and bid them beware 
of young men,'' the fair are candid and confidential — 
They will even make the first advances where they 
meet with a man of whose good sense they are con- 
vinced, in whose honour they can confide, and to whose 
secrecy ihey can trust. The Poet, especially, who can 
pay them an original and well turned compliment, or 
pen a delicious sonnet to their eye-brows, they are 
disposed to caress ; and they prefer the man in shep- 
herd garb and ploughman guise, who is capable of 
conversing rationally, to the .insipid popinjay who is 
" perfumed like a milliner," but whose fine speeches 
are borrowed from the novels of the day ; for the one 
is as far inferior to the other, as a mere retailer of Joe 
Miller's jests is to a Henry Erskine. 

THE LITERATURE OF BURNS. 
To call Burns illiterate with a view of surrounding 
his productions with an air of the miraculous, is not to 



ROBERT BURNS. XXV 

give the true estimate of his merit and attainments. 
Burns possessed a considerable portion of learning ; 
for although his attendance on school-exercises was 
very limited, " short and far between," yet when we 
take into our consideration his intercourse with Mr. 
Murdoch — his dialogues with tae Malcolms — his dis- 
puting with his school-fellows, and even with his 
teachers — his presiding in debating clubs and masonic 
societies — his controversial rencounters with the dab- 
blers in divinity -together with his incessant reading 
when he could snatch a favourable moment, our won- 
der will be greatly diminished. It is not from schools 
and colleges alone that education is acquired ; indivi- 
dual perseverance is the most successful mean of pro- 
moting erudition ; and though Burns was deficient in 
constancy, yet -hen he did study, the intenseness of 
his application supplied the want of continual exertion ; 
and it is manifest from his writings, that before he be- 
came an author, he was acquainted with the works of 
the most eminent of our British poets, as well as with 
so me >f the Greek aud Roman Classics through the 
medium of translations. He ha 1 a smattering of French, 
and night be able to read a few of the less obscure 
writers of that fashionable language. 

That he h<is not introduced any of the mythology of 
Greece and Rome into his poems for the sake of em- 
bellishing his machinery, though the omission is la* 
mented by Dr Moore, appears to us exceedingly for- 
tunate. None of the heathen gods or goddesses could 
have figured so well in his national and local pieces, as 
the Fairies in the ' Twa Brigs o Air," or Fun, Super- 
stition, and Hypocrisy, when personified in the " Holy 
Fair." In short, we regard Burns as a scholar of no 
contemptible rank, yet without detracting from his 
merit as an original genius, as his acquisitions were al- 
most entirely his own, and only in a very slight degree 
f d 



XXVI THE LIFE OF 

the result of assistance from foreign or mercenary 
auxiliaries. 

THE MORALITY OF BURNS. 

It'is abundantly evident that, in early life. Burns was 
distinguished by the warmth and purity of his filial and 
fraternal affection. That he reverenced his father is 
obvious from the letter which he addressed to him from 
Irvine, and which would not have dishonoured the wise 
son of Jesse in offering an address to the King of Ju- 
dah and Israel. That he fondly loved his brothers ap- 
pears from his epistles to Gilbert, and from his remit- 
ting him a large sum of money the moment. he could 
command it. Of his mother and sister? he uniformly 
speaks in terms of rapture. His gratitude was sincere 
and ardent. To John Ballantine, Esq. i man of dis- 
cernment and taste, one who delighted in drawing me- 
rit from obscurity, and in patronizing genius, he ad- 
dressed the " Twa Brigs o' Air." To Robert Aiken, 
Esq. who read him into fame, he dedicated " The 
Cottar's Saturday Night." To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 
his friend even before he was known a? poet, and his 
patron and benefactor afterwards, he paid a tribute of 
regard in his poem called the Dedication. At the 
house of the Rev. Dr. Laurie, from whom he had re- 
ceived much kindness and hospitality, he left a copy of 
grateful verses. Of Professor Dugald Stent he shows 
respectful recollection in several of his productions, 
especially the Vision, and of Mr. Graham of Fintry, 
his applause is unbounded. His Elegy on the Death 
of James Earl of Giencairn is a lasting monument 
of the sense he entertained of the disinterested 
friendship of that Nobleman, and his letters to Mrs. 
Dunlop are a convincing proof of the high value which 
he set on the amiable attention of that Lady to the in- 
terests of him and his family. His deviations from the 



ROBERT BURNS. XXVU 

path of strict morality were such as can easily be ac- 
counted for from the peculiarity of his circumstances, 
and from a combination of causes over which few 
minds could exercise controul. 

THE RELIGION OF BURNS. 

To judge of Burns's religious principles from the 
pious sentiments breathed in the Cottar's Saturday 
Night, is of the same description as if we should form 
our opinion of the habitual frame of Cowper's mind, 
from the story of John Gilpin, or of the purity of the 
rest of Buchanan's writings, from his version of the 
Psalms of David. 

It has not been satisfactorily demonstrated that 
Burns ever was what we call an orthodox believer. It 
would stagger the faith of a stranger to tell him that 
the following stanzas were the conceptions of the same 
mind, and the productions of the same pen, 

11 They chant their artless notes in simple guise, 
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise,. 

Or plaintive Martyrs worthy of the name,. 
Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays," &c 
" Mak' haste and turn King David owre, 
An' lilt wi* holy clangor, 
O' double verse come gie us four, 
And skirl up the Bmgor," &c. 
" The Priest like Father reads the sacred page, 
How Abram was the friend of God on high, 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalck's ungracious progeny," &c. 
" Come let a proper text be read, 
An' touch it aflf wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham leugb at his dad, 
Which made Canaan a Niger," &c. 

Notwithstanding the discrepancy which appears in 
d 2 



xxviii 



THE LIFE OF 



these two Poems, we are ready to affirm that Burns' 
was, at heart, as much the friend of true religion when 
he wrote the one, as when he composed the other. 

In the Cottar's Saturday Night he pictures how men 
ought to worship their Heavenly Father, and in the 
Ordination he pourtrays the manner in which they 
actually offer up their religious adoration ; but Burns 
knew weli that the time of family worship, owing to 
the uninteresting formality of the performers, is o'ten 
a period of stifled merriment or supine repose ; and he 
was fully aware that the tiresome psalm-singing, long 
prayers and prolix harangues, which accompany what 
is called a popular Ordination, afford no proof what- 
ever of the dominion of piety in the hearts of the 
worshippers — that the occasion, excepting perhaps 
to the individual who is undertaking an office of awful 
responsibility, is joyous in the extreme — and that the 
after part of the day is usually devoted to conviviality 
both by actors and auditors. 

We can draw no certain conclusion in regard to 
Burns's spiritual attainments from his letters to Mrs. 
Dunlop, which, though they have been cried up by 
critics of the age as the best of his prose writings, we 
are disposed to style the very worst ; not indeed as 
literary compositions, for there they rank very high, 
but as epistolary correspondence. They are too art- 
fully arranged to be sincere, and they show less of the 
heart and real character of the writer, than many 
others that are more carelessly got up. 

Mrs. Dunlop was a lady of lofty lineage— distin- 
guished talents — admirable taste — and exalted piety. 
In addressing her Burns found himself in the predica- 
ment of one who has taken the veil, and who rinds 
herself obliged to display external purity of manners, 
whatever the state of her inward thoughts may be. 

" Ah wretch ! t eliev d the spouse of God iu rain, 
Confess d within the slave oi love and man." 



ROBERT BURNS. XXI* 

In these justly celebrated letters, Burns expresses him- 
self very gloomily with regard to a future state, and 
his quotations are too often repeated, 

*' Tell us, ye dead, will none of v. >u in pity ?" &c. 

A writer thoroughly convinced of the divine origin 
of Christianity would hardly express himself in lan- 
guage so sceptical as the following, " Jesus Christ, 
thou amiablest of characters, I trust thou art no im- 
postor." The conclusion of the paragraph, indeed, is 
more like the language of a christian. 

THE POLITICS OF BURNS. 

Entertaining a kind of traditionary belief that his 
forefathers had fought under the banners of the Pre* 
tenders to the British throne, Burns avowed himself 
hostile to the legitimacy of the claims of tht House of 
Brunswick, and in speech, writing, and action, gave 
violent displays of the spirit of a partisan. [« E Jin- 
burgh he celebrated the birth day of Charles S rart, 
and wrote an animated ode on the occasion. He also 
poured out some bitter invectives against the reigning 
family, and was guilty of other extravagancies in pro* 
mm gating his sentiments, which operated as a bar to 
his promotion in the Excise. 

THE ERRORS OF BURNS, AND THE AN- 
ALOGY WHICH THEY BEAR TO THOSE OF 
MANKIND IN GENERAL. 

We wish it to be distinctly understood, that our ad- 
miration of Burns is confined chiefly to his genius, and 
to the exhibition of that genius in his authenticated 
writings, and not to his character as a man ; but whefa 
we charge him with conduct which we do not attempt 
to justify, we are willing to divide the blame, and not 
to load his head exclusively witii reproach. 



XXX THE LIFE OF 

The faults of Burns that were of a more prominent 
cast are said to have been, profaneness, intemperance, 
sensuality. He is accused of quoting scripture with 
impious levity. Burns was thoroughly versed in the 
Sacred Scriptures. This he owed as well to his taste 
for the sublime, as to the habitual practice of reading 
a chapter morning and evening in the exercise of 
family worship. His knowledge of Holy Writ, how- 
ever, was rather that of a critic than a divine. Ac- 
quaintance with scripture language h|is no more a ne- 
cessary tendency to render the character religious, 
than intimacy with the polite literature of Greece and 
Rome has to communicate refinement to the mind 
and polish to the manners of the pedagogue. 

The introduction of an apposite quotation from 
Scripture gives a charm to conversation, an energy to 
prose composition, and an ineffable beauty to poetry; 
and in numberless instances the practice is as innocent 
as the quoting of a passage fro n a classical work. It 
is in our opinion hardly ever &o offensive as the ever- 
lasting cant of the hypocrites of the day, who mouth 
the Scripture on the most trivial occasions, as applica- 
ble to their own experiences of the peculiar favour of 
Heaven, and as if none but themselves were of sufficient 
importance to engage the attention of the Parent of 
the Universe. 

By a few references we shall endeavour to point out 
the guilt and innocency of Burns in his Scriptural al- 
lusions. To apply to our own case those passages of 
the sacred volume which the Saviour of men appropri- 
ated to himself is very reprehensible. In his letter to 
Dr. Moore, the following quotation, though beautifully 
appropriate, is, for the reason above-mentioned, of a 
blameable description, " It will not seem surprising 
that where two or three met together there was I among 
thew^ 



ROBERT BURNS. XXXI 

In his letters to Mrs. Duniop, his allusions are some- 
times similarly objectionable, — " I am almost an evan- 
gelical man in Nithsdale ; for I have scarce any takere 
to lay my head.'* — " As to a Laird farming- his own 
property, sowing his own corn in hope, and reaping it, 
in spite of brittle weather, in gladness, knowing that 
none can say unto him what dost thou ?" 

In a letter to Mr Cuninghame, we consider the seria 
-mixta joe is as out of season — " Now to thee be given 
the precious things brought forth by the sun, and the 
precious things brought forth by the moon, and the 
benignest influences of the stars, and the living streams 
which flow from thejountam of life, and by the tree of 
life, for ever and ever, amen. y * The following are in- 
troduced with a portion of exquisite humour, but such 
as is unsuitable to the awful grandeur of the occasions 
when they were originally pronounced, <l I was in a 
state of mind, scarcely to be envied by the hopeless 
wretches who have got their mittimus, " Depart from 
me, ye cursed'* — " I have just received from my gen- 
tleman, that horrible summons in the book of Revela- 
tions, l 'that time shall be no more 1 . The felicitous 
manner in which some sciiptural allusions are brought 
forward is sufficient to atone, in the estimation of the 
lovers of sterling wit, for the seeming impiety — " I am 
deeply read in Boston's Fourfold State, Marshal on 
Sanctification, Guthrie's Trial of a Saving Interest, 
&c. but there is no balm in Gilead, there is no physician 
there for me." " Finally, brethren, farewell, "whatsoever 
things are lovely, whatsoever things are gentle, whatso- 
ever things are charitable, whatsoever things are kind, 
think on these things, and think on — Robert Burns.'* 
li God knows I am no saint ; but if I couid, and I be- 
lieve I do it as far as I can, I would wipe aivay all 
tears from all eyes." " I assure you, Sir, I have, like 
Solomon, whose character, excepting in the trifling 



XKXll THE LIFE OF 

affair of wisdom, I sometimes think I resemble — I have, 
I say, like him, turned my eyes to behold madness and 
folly? " I gapit wide but naething spak." " I was 
nearly as much struck as the friends of Job, of afflic* 
tion-bearing memory, when they sat down with him 
seven days and seven nights, and spake not a word" 
" Would to God that I came under the apostle James's 
description — " The prayer of a righteous man availetk 
much." " As to my private concerns, I am going on 
a mighty tax-gatherer before the Lord." 

The citations which we are disposed to consider as 
perfectly harmless are such as these — when he compares 
himself to Elihu and says, " / also will declare mine 
opinion*' — or the Nine to what he, by mistake, calls 
Salomon's lilies, who " toil not, neither do they spin" — 
and when he says of himself, " I returned like the dog to 
hii vomit and the sow that was washed, to her wallowing 
in the mire" — and of his father, that he was gone to 
where " the wicked cease from troubling* and where the 
weary are at rest" — In a letter to Mr. Ainslie he thus 
expresses himself in an innocent parody of scripture 
language. " As for the rest of my acts, and my wars, 
and my wise sayings, and why my mare was called Jenny 
Geddes, they shall be recorded a Jew weeks hence in tJie 
chronicles of your memory " 

Profane swearing is a vice altogether unproductive 
of pleasure or profit, and branded with the more than 
ordinary disapprobation of Heaven. It is not a little 
surprising, however, that the censors of the age are so 
severe in their animadversions on those who are, when 
provoked, occasionally guilty of profaning the holy and 
reverend name of their Creator, and that no censure is 
passed by them, on those criminals, who utter blas- 
phemous prayers. Now we do not regard it as a dif- 
ficult problem to demonstrate, that, in the present 
day, there is more insult oiiered to the Majesty of 



ROBERT BURNS. XXXll* 

Heaven, by praying than by swearing, and vvc should 
willingly give in exchange a few of those soi-disants 
saints who have, what they call the gift of prayer, for 
the swearers of the old school, who, along with their 
partial profanity would bring us back that uniformly 
dignified integrity, those elevated sentiments of ho- 
nour, that steadfast regard to truth, and that urbanity 
of manners, which we so much de*siderate. At the 
time when Burns became noticed in the world, the sin 
of swearing was rather too common ; and even ladies 
of eminent rank, virtue, and refinement, were not 
ashamed of being, at times, delivered of a bold oath. 
This, though it does not amount to a justification, ap- 
proaches to a palliation of the crime of Burns, as we 
frame excuses for the indecencies of Shakespeare and 
Dryden, by pleading the manners of the age in which 
they lived. 

To fix on any one the character of habitual drunk- 
enness is extremely difficult. To this character Burns 
made an approximation, and if the vice admit of ex- 
tenuation in any case, it must do it in that, of Burns. 
To mingle in the society of the wealthy, the witty and 
the jovial, without participating in their enjoyments, is 
what we can hardly expect from any, save those who, by 
delicacy of constitution, are debarred from indulgence. 
Burns could not plead imbecility or incapacity for 
social pleasures. He, therefore, conformed to the 
practices of his contemporaries, and was not more 
culpable than they. Now, we know, that many of the 
most respectable characters in the kingdom for talents, 
morality, and piety, seldom, when health permits, retire 
to rest without having a Hawick gill under their belt. We 
ought not therefore rashly to condemn any man for 
exceeding in the exercise of the benevolent affections, 
and at the same time applaud the miser, who, with an 
air of sanctity, abstains from conviviality, merely to 
save his purse. 



XXXIV THE LIFE OF 

Burns was for several years devoted to setting the 
table in a roar, but he was never of habits truly ex- 
pensive, nor did his love of jollity encroach on the 
time which his official duties challenged. It was not 
till the very close of his life, when his disappointments 
required soothing, and his diminishing energies called 
for a stimulus, that he deserved the character of habi- . 
tual intemperance.* 

" To dear deluding woman • 

The joy of joys," 

Burns was partial in the extreme. — This was owing, 
as well to his constitutional temperament, as to the 
admiration which he drew from the female world, and 
the facility with which they met his advances. But 
his aberrations must have been notorious, when a man 
in the rank of Miss Armour's father refused his consent 
to his permanent union with his unfortunate daughter. 
Among the lower classes of the community, subse- 
quent marriage is reckoned an ample atonement for 
former indiscretion, and ante-nuptial incontinency is 
looked upon as scarcely a transgression. 

Much has been said and written on the subject of 
equality in the married state. We, for our part, recog- 
nize no species of equality but personal equality. Yet 
suchis the case that when a young man or woman forms 
a matrimonial union with a partner only one degree 
lower than he. or she in the scale of rank, it occasions 
as much alarm among friends and relatives, and as 
much clishmaclaver at tea tables, and in gossipping 
parties, as if the house of Brunswick had formed an 
alliance with the house of Meg Merrilees. In France 
the Nobility viewed themselves as a separate and pri- 
vileged class, and it was regarded as infamous tor 
any of them to intermarry, excepting with, at least, 
sprigs of Nobility. This idiotical exclusive privilege, 
was one cause that tended to accelerate the Revolu- 



ROBERT BURNS. XXXV 

tion. But if ever the period shall arrive, when, in our 
nation, it shall be deemed a circumstance truly de- 
grading for the son or daughter of a Nobleman, to 
match in wedlock with the daughter or son of a Com* 
moner, farewell to the prosperity, farewell to the fe- 
licity, farewell to the stability of the British Empire ! 
for it is this intermixture of ranks, this confusion of 
orders, that gives wisdom to the legislative and energy 
to the executive branches of our political Constitution. 

We doubt whether it was the station or circum- 
stances of Burns that rendered the parents of Jean 
Armour so hostile to his marriage with their daughter ; 
we rather incline to the opinion already stated, that it 
was the notoriety of his miscellaneous amours. 

Much praise has been lavished on Burns for renewing 
his engagement with his Jean when in the blaze of his 
feme, and when he might have had it in his power, to 
enter into affinity with some family of distinction. The 
praise is misplaced. We do not think a man entitled 
to credit or commendation for doing what the law 
could compel him to perform. Burns was in reality a 
married man ; for when an acknowledgment of mar- 
riage is made in Scotland before witnesses, the parties 
themselves cannot afterwards annul it, without the in- 
terposition of the Commissary Court. It is truly 
ludicrous to hear Burns, aware as he must have been 
of the indissoluble power of the obligation, though every 
document was destroyed, talking of his being a bachelor. 
■" I shall somewhere have a farm soon — I was going 
to say a wife too, but that must never be my blessed 
lot — I am but a younger son of the house of Parnassus, 
and like other sons of great families, I may intrigue, if 
I choose to run every risk, but must not marry ." — 
The arguments adduced to prove the felicity of Burns 
in his conjugal or domestic state are by no means con- 
clusive. That sentimental raving about " bliss beyond 



XXXVI THE LIFE OE 

compare" Is no proof of its existence. It should be 
taken for granted, that married persons are happy — it 
ought to be regarded as a sin to call it in question, and 
the less that is said about it, by the parties, the better. 
It is by no means praiseworthy to 

** Enlarge upon't till all men doubt it " 

The Poet, who is really so from nature and by pro- 
fession, would do well to dedicate himself to a life of 
celibacy. Those luxurious and voluptuous descrip- 
tions of beauty which he is continually intermingling 
with his other effusions, are apt to awaken jealousv in 
the soul of his help-mate, if she be subject to ordinary 
weaknesses ; and Burns is severely treatei by the mo- 
ral critic for perpetually making love to those inspirers 
of his lays to whom he addressed his lyrical composi- 
tions. But had not Burns supposed himself to be, as 
it were, metamorphosed into the lady's lover, his lighter 
pieces would have wanted that witchery which is the 
very soul of such compositions ; for nothing can be 
more insipid than a love-song without heart. 

The sturdy independence of Burns's mind has proved 
the theme of panegyric and ridicule That he was too 
fa-tidious when he refused from Mr. Thomson al re- 
muneration for his intellectual labours will easily be 
admitted; but his refusal of £50 per annum from the 
proprietors of a London Opposition Newspaper, who 
requested him to furnish them with a weekly poetical 
communication, was not extraordinary. If the Jour- 
nalists in question supported a line of politics to which 
Burns was inimical, he could not with propriety close 
with their offer : nor could he. without hazarding his 
income as a revenue officer, accept the proposal from 
those, who were doing all in their power to embarrass 
that Government from whom he was deriving his sub- 
sistence. His contempt for riches, rank and title, was 



ROBERT BURNS. XXXV11 

partly affected, and partly caused by that conscious 
superiority which genius arrogates to itself, and which 
cannot brook neglect from men of inferior capacity, 
but who are in the accidental possession of advantages 
which give them pre-eminence in the eye of the world. 

The bursts of indignation, on the part of Burns, 
against titled blockheads, are too frequent and too 
violent. Fhe objects of his invectives were perhaps as} 
valuable members of society as those whom he loaded 
with applause ; and in his serious moments, he deeply 
lamented his want of self-government in that particular. 

It is dangerous to offend or affect to despise the 
genus irritabile vatum, and if men of rank and fortune 
frould only treat mental superiority, with that deference 
which it justly challenges, their names would descend 
to posterity coupled with those of the luminaries of 
the age ; whereas an angry epigram from the pen of 
a Burns will transmit to latest ages even a respectable 
name with the accompaniment of contempt. We 
have seen men of title yielding the precedency to ac- 
knowledged genius, though far below them in the scale 
of rank ; and we never perceived that they sank in the 
estimation of their fellow creatures by their condescen- 
sion, but rather that they rose higher as patterns of 
politeness. 

The sole instance of disingenuousness which we 
have heard charged against Burns, is that of having ad- 
dressed a poetical epistle to one of the companions 
of his early years, and having afterwards changed 
the address when the poem was printed, and dedicated 
it to another from whose friendship he expected to 
derive a greater accession of literary fame. 

The varied Beauties of the Poetry of Burns have 

been described in language of inimitable force and 

elegance. To the able criticisms already before the 

pxiblrc we have little to- add. But as somv of his writ- 

t e 



XXXVlll THE LIFE OF 

ings have been condemned to execration, and himself 
to everlasting torture, for having written them, by men 
of avowed piety, we shall confine our remarks to the 
obnoxious pieces. 

THE TWA HERDS. 

This is an admirable Satire, and its natural tendency 
is to check an abuse, which, if suffered to increase, 
would soon have banished evangelical truth from our 
happy land. 

No curse can befal a nation with regard to the civil 
administration of its affairs more pregnant with calamity 
than universal suffrage ; and, consequently, if that 
mode of election be pernicious in politics, it must be 
terribly fatal in matters of religion. It is a kind of 
anomaly in ecclesiastical economy, that the most igno- 
rant of mankind should sit in judgment on the qualifi- 
cations of those who are to be their teachers. This 
practice is thus reprobated by Burns with singular 
felicity — 

" To get the brutes the pow'r themselves 

To choose their herds." 

THE KIRK'S ALARM. 
It is now admitted by all, even by those who were his 
greatest adversaries-', that the prosecution against Dr. 
Macgill was a persecution, and that true religion would 
have been less scandalized by permitting the Essay, with 
all its errors, which we are far from defending, to cir- 
culate unnoticed, than it has been by the acrimony 
displayed in the conducting of the process. The wicked 
wit of Burns was directed with much effect against the 
indulgence of an illiberal, uncharitable and unchristian 
spirit ; and his portraits, though introduced with con- 
siderable aggravation of features, like Sir Roger de 
Coverly's when metamorphosed into that of the 



ROBERT BURNS XXXIX 

Saracen's head, bear a striking resemblance to the 
originals ; and, with regard to many of the points in 
dispute, the language of the worthy Baronet employed 
by his taciturn friend is extremely applicable — " Much 
may be said on both sides.*' 

THE HOLY FAIR. 

The shafts of ridicule are the best weapons for ex- 
posing absurdity. When serious remonstrance is of no 
avail, Hudibrastic humour is often efficacious in dimin- 
ishing the baleful influence, of what a preacher, whose 
eloquence is sui generis^ calls enthusiasm, fanaticism, 
mysticism, hypocrisy and cant. There is hardly any 
part of our form of public worship less edifying than 
field or tent preaching ; and the incoherent harangues 
uttered by one who combines the gesticulations of a 
mountebank with those of an auctioneer, are calculated 
to amuse the populace, but not to instruct them. We 
venerate and love religion as a chaste matron, or an un- 
sullied virgin ; and we have no objections to her being 
occasionally exhibited to the view of the public in all 
her beauty. It is the prostitution of her charms that 
we execrate. 

Burns in that delightful satire has not offered a single 
sneer at the solemnity itself. — He has only attacked 
the abuses attendant on the mode of conducting it — 
abuses which are expressly condemned by the laws of 
the Church, and the acts of the General Assembly. 

EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKIN. 

Another practice in the Church of Scotland sus- 
ceptible of great abuse, but now getting fast into dis- 
repute, is placing transgressors, who are perhaps less 
guilty than nine-tenths of the congregation, on the 
stool of repentance, and giving them a rebuke, often 
couched in the most indecent language, in the pre- 
e 2 



x! 



THE LIFE OF 



sence of youth, and beauty, and innocence. Several 
of Burns's happiest effusions are adapted to display this 
part of ecclesiastical discipline in all its abominable 
colours, and will no doubt co-operate with the improve- 
ments of the age to accomplish its desuetude. 

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 
This was not only the prayer of Holy Willie, but 
it is merely the metrical version of every prayer that is 
offered up by those who call themselves the pure re- 
formed church of Scotland. LJn the course of his read- 
ing and polemical warfare, Burns embraced and de- 
fended the opinions of Tayor, Macgill, and that 
school of Divines. 3He could not reconcile his mind 
to that picture of the Being, whose very essence is 
Love, which is drawn by the high Calvinists or the 
representatives of the Covenanters — namely, that he 
is disposed to grant salvation to none but a few of 
their sect. [ That the whole Pagan world, the disciples 
of Mahomet, the Roman Catholics, the Lutherans, 
and even the Calvinists v. ho differ from them in certain 
tenets, must, like Korah, Dathan and Abiram, descend 
to the pit of perdition, man, woman, and child, without 
the possibility of escape ; but such are the identical 
doctrines of the Cameronians of the present day, and 
such was Holy Willie's style of prayerTj The hypocrisy 
and dishonesty of the man, who was at the time a re- 
puted Saint, were perceived by the discerning penetra- 
tion of Burns, and to expose them he considered his 
duty. The terrible view of the Deity exhibited in 
that able production is precisely the same view which 
is given of him, in different words, by many devout 
preachers at present They inculcate, that the great- 
est sinner is the greatest favourite' of heaven — that a 
reformed bawd is more acceptable to the Almighty 
than a pure virgin, who has hardly ever transgressed 



ROBERT BURN* Xlt 

even in thought — that the lost sheep alone will be 
saved, and that the ninety-and-nine out of the hundred 
will be left in the wilderness, to perish without mercy 
— ithat the Saviour of the world loves the elect, not 
from any lovely qualities which they possess for they 
are hateful in his sight, but " he loves them because 
he loves them." Such are the sentiments which are 
breathed by those who are denominated High Cal- 
vinists, and from which the soul of a poet who loves 
mankind, and who has not studied the system in all its 
bearings, recoils with horror. The supporters of these 
doctrines consider themselves borne out by scripture* 
and the standards of the Church. Now, the truth is this, 
the compilers of our Confession of Faith, with a most 
commendable degree of prudence, have worded the 
article Predestination in such a manner, as to express 
both the free agency and accountableness of man,— 
But the Antinomian mode of expounding this high 
doctrine adopted by some interpreters of scripture, 
bereaves man entirely of volition ; and the gloomy for- 
bidding representation which they give of the Supreme 
Being has a tendency to produce insanity and lead to 
suicide. 

To attempt, by the exercise of super-eminent abili- 
ties, and the splendor of unrivalled eloquence, to re- 
concile this system, on rational grounds, with the dis- 
coveries of modern astronomy, is magnificent raving. 

THE CALF. 

That Burns frequently exposed to ridicule the 
foibles of respectable characters, and that he would 
sooner have lost his friend than his jest, cannot be de- 
nied. The lady on whose bonnet a certain vile in- 
truder made its appearance was perhaps as little vermi- 
ferous as any other in the congregation ; but the word 
^ louse" has associated ideas of slovenliness with her 
c3 



Xlli *HE LIFE OF N 

person, which her acknowledged purity and elegance 
have scarcely been able to banish from our minds. 

The Bible contains such a variety of sublime, beauti- 
ful and pathetic passages, that preachers can never be 
at a loss for unexceptionable texts ; and to choose a 
queer text, out of affectation of singularity, a love of 
popular admiration, or a desire of displaying great 
talents by bringing the gospel out of any thing, is to 
expose themselves to ridicule, and bring religion into 
disgrace. 

We can by no means commend the honest Dissenter, 
who, at the dispensation of the most solemn service of 
our holy religion, chose as the ground of his action- 
sermon, the following passage, *' a Bell and a Pome- 
granate — a Bell and a Pomegranate round about the 
hem of the robe." — One of his elders afterwards thus 
addressed him — W Sir, yon was a droll text, but you 
brought the gospel out o't.'' Such instances of vicious 
taste are fair game for poetical reprehension, for says 
the Bard 

" Whether the charmer sinner it or saict it, 
If folly grow, raraantic I must pa in U." 

Burns entertained no malignity at the preacher. lie 
probably was pleased with his appearance, his manner, 
and his eloquence ; but X\x. Hamilton had. requested 
him, oa his saying he was going to church, to bring 
him a note of the sermo \, a. hi accordingly lie pi. 
ed hi mi with the laughable jeu flT esprit. 

Thus, we think, we have demonstrated that Burns 
Jias contributed his share towards accomplishing the 
abolition of tent preaching and stools of repentance — 
proving the disastrous consequences of popular elec- 
tions, and leading the liberal mind to a rational view of 
^he nature of prayer, pointing out the danger of mistaking 
the operations of party spirit for the exercise of zeal in 
the cause of tile truth",' and in short checking thai flood 



ROBERT BURNS xliiT 

of fanaticism with which the land is in darigsv of being 
deluged, by those who darken counsel by words without 
knowledge. Now that the Poet is sleeping with hia 
fathers — peace to his ashes. It is the moral tendency 
of those of his writings that were published under his 
own inspection, to which alone the eye of criticism 
should be directed ; and we feel a thorough convictipa 
that, in this particular, Burns has done as much to pro* 
mote the interests of morality and rational piety, as any 
writer of the age in which he flourished. To the 
young, the gay, the witty and the fair, who must havo 
amusement, he has presented a mental treat of tho 
utmost purity. By adapting unexceptionable verses to 
our delightful and plaintive national melodies, by -sub* 
stituting delicate words for the gross ribaldry of the 
former age, and by reforming the licentious character 
of the Scottish Ballad, he has conferred an obligation 
of no ordinary magnitude on his native land. It was 
tr-uly lamentable, previous to the epoch of this reforma- 
tion, to hear songs, stained with such indecencies as 
" Dainty Davie, Duncan Gray, Logan Watery On a. 
Bank of Flowers, Down the Burn Davie, She rose and 
loot me in" — sung in concert by young men ancjj 
maidens — but Burns by the changes which he has in* 
troduced has furnished the lovers of harmony with a; 
series of the sweetest lyrics that ever appeared in any 
language, which chastity herself may read without in- 
ward reproach, and modesty listen to without a blush. 
Burns died in the prime of life. Had he been spared 
till the play of the passions was over, it is probable he 
would have obtained a piace in the Calendar of Saints. 
The most profligate of men has nothing more to do 
than to profess his penitence — to boast like a Free- 
mason — " not what I was, but what I am. ' He may 
glory in his shame. He may preach about his having 
formerly swallowed all manner of uncleanness with 



Xliv THE LIFE Of 

greediness — let him only employ a peculiar phraseology; 
and be careful to encourage every thing like en- 
thusiasm, and he will be regarded by a considerable 
proportion of his fellow creatures, as a jewel of the 
first water. But, certainly, though we should be ex- 
tremely unwilling to cut off any person from the hope 
of pardon, yet we place very little reliance on the self- 
denial of imbecility, or the piety of dotage. 

It has been viewed as a matter of reproach against 
the patrons of Burns, that, although he numbered 
among his intimate friends men of exalted station, 
great affluence, and superior influence, yet all that 
their patronage could obtain for him, was a situation 
under Government, which any man of ordinary interest 
could procure for his footman. It ought to be re- 
membered that this was the only situation which Burns 
thought himself capable of filling.— He had studied 
practical mathematics at school, and in particular 
gauging as a branch of that science. — He never aspired 
to any other office, and though at first in the lowest 
department, the highest situation, even that of a Col- 
lector, a very honourable, lucrative and independent 
post, was open to his ambition — a post which he would 
undoubtedly have soon obtained, had not his own im- 
prudence intervened and baffled every effort of his 
friends to advance him. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FIRST EDITION OF 

• BURNS' POEMS, 

PUBLISHED AT KILMARNOCK- 

JL HE following Trifles are not the production of the 
poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art, and, 
perhaps amid the elegancies and idlenesses of upper 
life, looks down for a rural theme, with an eye to 
Theocritus or Virgil. To the author of this, these, and 
other celebrated names their countrymen, are, at least 
in their original language, a fountain shut up, and a 
book sealed. Unacquainted with the necessary re- 
quisites for commencing poet by rule, he sings the 
sentiments and manners he felt and saw in himself and 
his rustic compeers around him, in his and their native 
language. Though a rhymer from his earliest years, 
at least from the earliest impulse of the softer passions, 
it was not till very lately that the applause, perhaps 
the partiality, of friendship, wakened his vanity so far 
as to make him think any thing of h ; s worth showing ; 
and none of the following works were composed with 
a view to the press. To amuse himself with the little 
creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues 
of a laborious life ; to transcribe the various feelings, 
the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own 
breast ; to find some kind of counterpoise to the 
struggles of a world, always an alien scene, a task un- 
couth to the poetical mind— these were his motives 
for courting the Muses, and in these he found poetry 
to be its own reward. 

Now that he appears in the public character of an 
author, he does H with fear and trembling. So dear 
is fame tq the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, 
nameless Bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being 
branded as— An impert&£& fclaeli-heai; obtruding hlfl 



Xlvi PREFACE 

nonsense on the world ; and, because he can make a 
shift to jingle a few doggerel Scotch rhymes together, 
looking upon himself as a poet of no small conse- 
quence forsooth t 

It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shen- 
stone, whose divine elegies do honour to our language, 
our nation, and our species, that * Humility has de- 
' pressed many a genius to a hermit, but never raised 
* one to fame !' If any critic catches at the word 
genius, the author tells him once for all, that he cer- 
tainly looks upon himself as possessed of some^ poetic 
abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he 
has done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst 
character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever 
give him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the 
glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate Fergusson, 
he, with equal unaffected sincerity, declares, that, 
even in his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the 
most distant pretensions. These two justly admired 
Scotch poets he has often had in his eye in the follow- 
ing pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at their 
flame, than for servile imitation. 

To his Subscribers, the Author returns his most 
sincere thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a coun- 
ter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the bard, 
conscious how much he owes to benevolence and 
friendship, for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that 
dearest wish of every poetic bosom — to be distinguish- 
ed. He begs his readers, particularly the learned and 
the polite, who may honour him with a perusal, that 
they will make every allowance for education and cir- 
cumstances of life ; but if, after a fair, candid, and 
impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of dulness 
and nonsense, let him be done by as he would in that 
case do by others — let him be condemned, without 
mercy, to contempt and oblivion. 



DEDICATION 

Of the Second Edition of (he Poems, formerly printed 

TO THX 

NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 

OF THE 

CALEDONIAN HUNT. 

MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, 

A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose 
highest ambition is to sing in his Country's service— 
•where shall he so properly look for patronage as to the 
illustrious names of his native land; those who bear the 
honours and inherit the virtues of their ancestors ? The 
Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the prophe- 
tic bard Elijah did Elisha — at the plough, and threw 
her inspiring mantle over me+ She bade me sing the 
loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of 
my native soil, in my native tongue ; I tuned my wild, 
artless notes, as she inspired, — She whispered me to 
come to this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay 
my Songs under your honoured protection : I novo obey 
her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not ap- 
proach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style 
of dedication, to thank you for past favours ; that path 
is so hackneyed by prostituted learning, that honest rus- 
ticity is ashamed of it. Nor do I present this Address 
with the venal soul of a servile Author, looking for a 
continuation of those favours i J was bred to the plough. 



Xlviil DEDICATION. 

and am independent, I come to claim the common Scot- 
tish name wild you, my illustrious Countrymen ; and to 
tell the world that I glory in the title. I come to c n~ 
gratulate my Country, that the blood of her ancient he- 
roes still runs uncontaminated ; and that from your cou- 
rage, knowledge,, and public spirit, she may expect pro- 
tection, wealth, and liberty. In the last place, I come to 
proffer my warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of Ho- 
nour, the Monarch of the Universe ,' J or your welfare 
and happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the an- 
cient andjavourite amusement of your Forefathers, may 
Pleasure ever be of your party ; and may Social Joy 
await your return ! When harassed in courts or camps 
with the jostlings of bad men and bad measures ,. may 
the honest consciousness ofhijured Worth attend your re- 
turn to your native Seats ; and may Domestic Happi- 
ness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates ! 
May corruption shrink at your kindling indignant 
glance ; and may tyranny in the Ruler, and licentious- 
ness in the People, equally find you an inexorable foe / 
/ have the honour to be, 
With the sinccrest gratitude, and highest respect, 
My Lords and G ntlemen. 

Your most devoted humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 



April 



4, 17S7. J 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 
THE TWA DOGS, 

A TALE. 



T 



WAS in that place o- Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing thro* the afternoon, . 
Twa dogs that were na thrang at name, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Ccesar, 
Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for Cod. 

i His locked, letter* d, braw brass collar, 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar : 
But though he was o' high degree, 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin. 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving biilie, 
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 
Was made lang syne — Lord knows how lang. 

> Cucbullin's dog in Ossian's FingaL 

t A 



2 

He was a gash an' faithful tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dike. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his towzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gaucy tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snufF'd and snowkit, 
Whyles mice an' moudiworts they howkit ; 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion 
An' worry'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' dafnn weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
An' there began a lang digression 
About the lords o the creation, 

CESAR. 
I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell : 
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonnie silken purse 
As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the steeks, 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a' the Ian' : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
1 own it's past my comprehension. 



• LUATH. 
Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't enough ; 
A cottar howkin in a shcugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and sic like, 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee dud die weans, 
An' nought bat his nan' darg, to keep 
Them right and tight in thack an' rape. 

An' when they meet wi' sail* disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' cauld "and hunger ; 
But, how it comes, I never kenn'd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

C.£SAR. 
But then to see how ye're negleckit, 
How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit ! 
L — d, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor fo'k, 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notie'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble ; 
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches : 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ? 

LUATH. 
They're no sae wretched's ane wad think ; 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
A 2 



An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employm#nt, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives : 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mina 1 the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lonon. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmas returns* 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns, 
When rural life, o' ev'ry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps ; an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upon the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed roun' wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, 
The young anes rantin thro' the house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont fo'k, 
Are riven out baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha' aiblins, thrang a parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin — 



CiESAR. 
Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; 
For Britain s girid! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him ; 
An' saying aye or no's they bid him: 
At operas aii' plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading: 
Or may be, in a frolic daft, 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft, 
To mak a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
To learn bon ton an' see the woii'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles 
He rives his father's auld entails ; 
Or by Madrid he takes the rout, 
To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' now*-; 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
Wh-re-hunting amang groves o' myrtles ; 
Then bouses drumly German water, 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An* clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 
For Britain s guid ! for her destruction i 
Wi* dissipation, feud, an' faction. 

LUATH. 
Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste saeinony a braw estate I 
Are we sae fought en an' harass' d 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cottar ! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o 1 them's ill-hearted fellows i 
Except for breakin o' their timmer, 
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master C<zsar, 
:Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure ? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them, 

A3 



6 

C^SAR. 
L — d, man, were ye but whyles whare I amj 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auid age wi' grips an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They make enow themselves to vex them ; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion less will hurt them. 
A country fellow at the pleugh, 
His acres till'd, he's right eneugh ; 
A country lassie at her wheel, 
Her dizzens done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet aiis them, yet uneasy : 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
Their nights unquiet, Lmg, an' restless : 
An' e'en their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places, 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches ; 
Ae night they're mad wi' drink an* wh-ring f 
"Kiest day their life is past enduring. 
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great and gracious a* as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles, o'er the wee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wf crabbit leuks, 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman ; 
But this is Gentry's life la common. 



By this, the sun was out o* sight, 
An* darker gloaming brought the night : 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone ; 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Hejoic'd they were na men but dogs ; 
An* each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK, 

<}ie him strong drink, until he wink, 

That's sinking in despair; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 

That's prest wi' grief an' care ; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse* 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
Till he forgets his hues or debts, 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. 

LET other Poets raise a fracas, 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drucken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 
O thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch Drink, 
Whether thro' wimpling»worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name ] 
Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn. 
An* Aits set up their awnie horn, 
An* Pease and Beans at e'en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' grain ! 
On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In souple scones, the wale o' food \ 
Or tumblin in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 



There thou sliinee ehie£ 



8 

Food fills the wame, and keeps us livin ; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an* grievin ; 

But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o* doited Lear : 
Thou cheers the heart o* drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o* Labour sair, 

At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy silver weed, 
Wi* Gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind in time o* need, 

The poor man's wine, 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens tine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 
Ev'n godiy meetings o* the saunts, 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly then thou reams t\\£ horn in ! 
Or reekin on a New-year morning 

In cog or bicker, 
An* just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 
An* gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath 

I' th' lugget caup ! 
Then Burnewin* comes on like death 

At ev'ry chaup. 

Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong foreharnmer, 

9 JBurnewin — burn-the-wind — the Blacksmith -an appropriate tide. 



Till block an' studdie ring an* reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin cuifs their dearies slight, 

Wae worth the name ; 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An* just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley -bree 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the Cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But monie daily weet their weason 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drucken hash, 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 
To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench, 
An* gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 
O* sour disdain, 
Out owre a glass o' tohisky punchy 

Wi* honest men* 

O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's humble thanks i 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 
Are my poor verses ! 



10 

Thou comes — they rattle i* their ranks 
At ither's a — s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! 
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast i 
Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast, 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes* charter'd boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the Whisky Stells their prize ! 
Haud up thy hair*, Deil ! ance, twice,- thrice ! 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an* Whisky gill, 
An* rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 



THE AUTHOR'S 
EARNEST CRY & PRAYER* 

TO THE 

SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES 

IN THE 

HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

Dearest of Distillation ! last and best 

How art thou lost ! 

Parody on Milton. 

YE IRISH Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wha represent our brughs an* shires, 
An* doucely manage our affairs 

In Parliament, 
To you a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

* This was written before the actanent the Scotch Distilleries, of ses- 
sion 1786 ; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grate- 
ful thanks. 



11 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! 
Your Honors heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, 
To see her sittin on her a — e 

Low i' the dust, 
An* scriechin out prosaic verse, 

An* like to brust ! 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland and mcs in great affliction, 
E'er sin* they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavitce : 
An* rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An* move their pity. 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth, 
The honest, open, naked truth : 
Tell him o' mine an* Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch an* gloom ? 
Speak out, an* never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

W£' them wha grant 'em : 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'ring votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle ; 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle : 
An' d — mn'd Excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin a Stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussle 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 
A blackguard Smuggler right behint her, 
An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 

Of a* kind coin. 



IS 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, - 
Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! 
But could I like Montgomeries fight, 

Or gab like Bosivell, 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Honors, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it, 
An' tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it ! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se warran : 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ;* 
An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham;^ 
An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, 

Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay ; 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie, 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
'To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 

* Sir Adam Fergusson. 

f The present Duke of Montrose. 



13 

Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh -petti e, 

Ye'll see't, or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her Whisky. 

An, L — d, if ance they pit her till't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

I' the first she meets ! 
For G-d sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive, wi' a' your Wit and Lear, 

To get remead. 

Yon ill tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie ; 
An' send him to his dicing box 

An' sportin lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld BoconnocFs, 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, 
An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnoclcs* 

Nine times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition. 
Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

* A worthy old Hostess of the Author's in Mavchlpie, where he 
semetimes studied Politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch Drink, 

t B 



14 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, 
May still your Mither's heart support ye ; 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty, 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 

Before his face. 

God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise, 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes 

That haunt St. Jamie s ! 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 



POSTSCETPT. 

Let half-starv'd slaves, in warmer skies, 
See future wines, rich clust'ring, rise, 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blythe and frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms! 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonor arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 

To stan' or rin, 
Till skelp— a shot — they're aff, a' throwther, 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in. his check a Highland gill, 



Say, such is royal George's will, 

An' there's the foe, 

He has nae thought but how to kill 
Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doublings tease him : 
Death comes ! — wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him : 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime and season ; 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither ! 
Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam ; 
Freedom and Whisky gang thegither ! 

Tak aff your dram ! 



THE HOLY FAIR.* 

A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust* 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget show'd, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la-modc, 

I. 

UPON a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn, 

An' snuff the caller air, 

* Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a sa« 
cramental occasion. 

B 2 



16 

The rising sun owre Galston muirs, 
Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 

The hares were hirplin down the furs. 
The lav'rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day. 

II. 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin up the way ; 
Twa had manteeles o' dolei'u' black, 

But ane wi' lyart lining ; 
The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining, 

Fu' gay that day. 

III. 

The txva appear' d like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, an' claes ! 
Their visage, wither'd, la-ng, an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes : 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lcwp, 

As light as ony lanibie, 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 

IV. 

Wi* bonnet aff, quoth I, * Sweet lass, 
' I think ye seem to ken me ; 

' I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face, 
' But yet I canna name ye.' 

Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak, 
An' taks me by the hands, 

* Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

i Of a' the ten commands 

'■ A screed some day. 

V. 

' My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 

* The nearest friend ye hae ; 

* An' this is Superstition here, 

* An' that's Hypocrisy, 



(' 



17 

* I'm gaun to ********* Holy Fair 

' To spend an hour in daffin : 
Gin ye'il go there, yon runkl'd pair, 
We will get famous laughin 

* At them this day.' 

VI. 

Quoth I, ' With a' my heart, I'll do't ; 
* I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 

* An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

' Faith we'se hae fine remarkin P 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-tirae 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi* monie a wearie body, 

In droves that day. 

VII. 

Here farmers gash, in ridin graith 

Gaed hoddin by their cottars ; 
There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith^ 

Are springin o'er the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' siveet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, 

Arijarls bak'd wi' butter 

Fu' crump that day. 

VIII. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,. 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gathrin. 
Some carryin deals, some chairs an' stools, 

An' some are busy blethrin 

Kight loud that day. 

IX. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 
An' screen our country Gentry, 

There, racer Jess, an' twa-three wlwes,. 
Are blinkiix at the entry. 
B 8 



18 

Here sits a raw of tittlin jads, 

Wi' heaving breasts and bare neck,. 

An' there a batch of wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae K ck - 

Y or fun this day. 

X. 

Here some are thinkin on their sins, 

An' some upo' their cla.es ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces ; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day.. 

XT. 
O happy is that man an' blest !* 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best,. 

Comes clinkin down beside him ! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof upon her bosom. 

UnkenM that day„ 

XII. 
Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
F or ****** S peels the holy door 

Wi* tidings o' salvation, 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o* G— present him, 
The vera sight o*"***** #, s face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 

W T i* fright that day> 

XIII. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 
Wi* rattlin an* wi' thumpin ! 

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath^ 
Ee's stampin aa' he's jumpin ! 



19 

His lengthen' d chin, his tum'd up snout* 
His eldritch squeel and gestures, 

Oh how they fire the heart devout, 
Like cantharidian plasters, 

On sic a day ! 

XIV. 

But, hark J the tent has changM its voice 

There's peace an* rest nae langer^* 
For a' the Teal judges rise,. 

They canna sit for auger. 
***** opens, out his cauld harangues^ 

On practice and on morals.; 
An* aft* the godly pour in timings, 

To. gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day.. 

XV. 

What signifies his barren shine- 

Gi' moral pow'rs and reason ? 
His English style, an' gesture fine^ 

Are a* clean out o' season, 
Like Socrates or Jintonine x 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day,.. 

XVI. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poisonM nostrum ; 
For *******, frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word, o' G — ,. 

An* meek an' mim has view'd it, 
While Common- Sense has ta'en the road, 

An' afl^ an' up the Cowgate, * 

Fast, fast, that day. 

XVII. 

Wee ******, niest, the Guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raiblesj 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes, 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 

* A street so called which faces the tent in - 



20 

But, faith ! the birkie wants a Manse> 

So cannily he hums them ; 
Altho* his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafiiins-ways o'ercomes him 

At times that day.. 

XVIII. 

Now butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators ; 
Here's crying out for bakes and gills, 

An* there the pint stoup clatters ; 
While thick an* thrang, an* loud an* lang^. 

Wi* Logic, an* w? Scripture, 
They raise a din, that in the end 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

XIX. 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair 

Than either School or College : 
It kindles wit, it waukens lear, 

It pangs us fbu o' knowledge. 
Be't whisky-gill, or penny-wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle up our notion 

By night or day, 

XX. 

The lads an* lasses, blythely bent, 

To mind baith saul an* body, 
Sit round the table weel content, 

An 7 steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an* that ane's leuk, 

They're making observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An* forming assignations, 

To meet some day. 

XXI. 

But now the-L — d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts : 

Black ****** is na spairia: 



21 

His piercing words, like Highlan* swords, 
Divide the joints and mairow ; 

His talk o' H-ll, where devils dwell, 
Our vera saul does harrow* 

Wi' fright that day. 

XXII. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fti* o' lowin brunstane, 
Wha's ragin flame, an* scorchin heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane \ 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roaiin, 
When presently it does appear 

'Twas but some neebor snorin, 

Asleep that day. 

XXIII. 

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a* dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, 

Amang the furms and benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches, 

An' dauds that day. 

XXIV. 

In comes a gaucy, gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld Guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them't like a tether, 

Fu* lang that day. 

XXV. 

Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma* need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie his braw claithing ! 



ShafespeweY Hamlets 



O wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel, 

How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day ! 

XXVI. 

Now Clinlaimbell, wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an' croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses ^trip their shoon : 
Wi* faith and hope, an* love an* drink, 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

XXVII. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gane, 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are feu o' love divine ; 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in houghmagandie 

Some ither day. 



DEATH & Dr. HORNBOOK. 

A TRUE STORY. 

SOME books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd ; 
Ev'n Ministers, they hae been ken'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times, to vend, 

And nail't wi' Scripture*- 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
"Which lately on a night befel,. 



23 

Is just as true's the Deil's in h-Il 

Or Dublin city : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 

I was na fou, but just had plenty : 

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 

The rising moon began to glowr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre : 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I could na tell. 
I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie s mill. 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 

I took a bicker. 

I there wi' Something did forgather, 

That pat me in an eerie swither ; 

An awfu' scythe out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear-dangling, hang ; 
A three-tae'd leister on the ither 

La} r , large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame it had ava ! 

And then, its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma, 

As cheeks o' branks. 

' Guid-een,' quo' I ; * Friend ! hae ye been mawi 
' When ither folk are busy sawin ?** 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naething spak ; 
At length, says I, * Friend, whare ye gaun, 

' Will ye go back?' 

* This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. 



24 

It spak right hoWe, — ' My name is Death, 
But be na' fley'd.'— Quoth I, « Guid faith, 
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

* But tent me billie : 
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

' See, there's a gully f 

Gudeman,' quo' he, ' put up your whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle 

* To be mislear'd, 
I wad na mind it, no, that spittle 

* Out-owre my beard. 

Weel, weel !' says I, ' a bargain he't; 
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

* Come, gie's your news ; 
This while* ye hae been mony a gate 

' At mony a house.' 

Ay, ay !' quo' he, an' shook his head, 
It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

* An' choke the breath > 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

' An' sae maun Death. 

Sax thousand years are near-hand fled 

Sin' I was to the hutching bred, 

An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid 

To stap or scaur me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's \ ta'en up the trade, 

' An' faith, he'll waur me. 

Ye ken Joel: Hornbook i the Clachan, 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! 
He's grown sae weel acquant wi' Buchan J 
An' ither chaps, 
' The weans haud out their ringers laughin 

* An pouk my hips. 

* An epidemical fever was then raging in the country. 

•| This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, a brother of 
the Sovereign Order of \he Ferula ; but, by intuition and inspiration, 
is at once an Apothecary. Surgeon, and Physician. 
\ Buchan's Domestic Medicine. 



25 

* See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
4 They hae pierc'd niony a gallant heart ; 
1 But Doctor Hornbook, wi' liis art 

* And cursed skill, 

* Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 

< Damn'd haet they'll kill. 

{ 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

1 I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

' Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; 

' But deil-ma-care, 
1 It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

' But did nae mair. 

1 Hornbook was vy, wi' ready art, 
< And had sae fortify'd the part, 

* That when I looked to my dart, 

* It was sae blunt, 

* Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

* O' a kail-runt. 

* I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 

* I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, 
' But yet the bauld Apothecary 

1 Withstood the shock ; 
1 I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

* O' hard whun rock. 

* Ev'n them he canna get attended, 

1 Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, 
1 Just in a kail-blade, and send it, 

* As soon's he smells't, 
1 Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 

c At once he tell'st. 

* And then o' doctor's saws an' whittles, 

* O' a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
' A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

' He's sure to hae ; 
1 Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

< As A B C. 

* Calces o' fossils, earth, an' trees ; 
' True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; 

' The Farina o' beans and pease, 

' He lias't in plenty ; 

' Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

' He can content ye. 

tc 



26 

1 Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

* Urinus Spiritus of capons ; 

* Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

' Distill' d per se ; 

* Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail-clippings, 

1 And mony mae.' 

1 Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole* now,' 
^uo' I, * if that the news be true ! 
His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 
' Sae white an' bonnie, 

* Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the pleugh ; 

* They'll ruin Johnny /• 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
And says, ' Ye need na yoke the pleugh, 
' Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

1 Tak ye nae fear : 
' They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh 

' In twa-three year. 

* Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 

* By loss o' blood or want o' breath, 

* This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

' That Hornbook's skill 
' Has clad a score i' their last claith, 
1 By drap an' pill. 

' An honest Wabster to his trade, 

* Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred, 
1 Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

1 When it was sair ; 
' The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

* But ne'er spak mair. 

* A countra Laird had ta'en the bats, 
' Or some curmurrin in his guts, 

* His only son for Hornbook sets, 

' An' pays him well. 
' The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets, 

1 Was laird himsel. 

' A bonnie lass, ye ken her name, 

' Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame : 

4 She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 

* In Hornbook's care 

* The Grave-digger. 



27 

* Horn sent her affto her lang hame, 

1 To hide it there. 

* That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's- way, 
1 Thus goes he on from day to day, 

' Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

* An's weel paid for't ; 

* Yet stops me o' my lawf'u' prey, 

*< Wi' his d-nin'd dirt : 

1 But, hark ! I'll tell you o' a plot, 
1 Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't ; 
' I'll nail the self-conceited Scot, 

1 As dead's a herrfci : 

* Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

' Pie gets his fairia !' 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the ttval, 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

And sae did Death. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

A POEM. 
Inscribed to J. .»*********, Esq. Ayr. 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush ; 
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 
Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill j 
Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy Independence bravely bred, 
By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And train' d to arms in stern .Misfortune's field j 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ? 
C 2 



28 

No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. 
Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
SkilPd in the secret, to bestow with grace; 
When B********* befriends tiia humble name, 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame. 
With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells, 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-worn crap ; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles, 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brunstane reek : 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon-tide blaze, 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 
'Twas in that season, when a simple bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
Ae night, w T ithin the ancient brugh of Ayr, 
By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care ; 
He left his bed, and took his wayward route, 
And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the left about : 
(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 
To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

* A noted Tavern at the Auld Brig end* 



29 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 

He wander'd out he knew not where nor why :) 

The drowsy Dungeon-clock* had number'd two, 

And IVallace-Tuw'r* had sworn the fact was true : 

The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen sounding roar, 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore : 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 

Crept, gently crusting, o'er the glittering stream. — 

When, lo ! on either hand, the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings he heard ; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the Gos\ drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
And ken the lingo o' the sp'ritual fo'k ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
And ev'n the vera deiis they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 
Yet teughly doure, he bade an unco b: 
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 
That he, at Loji'oji, frae ane Adams, go: ; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi* virls and whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search,. 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; 
It chane'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
WP thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
He, down the water, gies him this guideen : — 

AULD BRIG. 
I doubt na, fiien', ye'il think ye're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank! 
But gin ye Dj a brig as auld as me, 
Tho 5 faith that day, I doubt, ye'll never see ; 

* * The two steeples. 
f The gos-bawk, or falcon, 
C 3 



30 

There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle* 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 
Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk, o' stane an' lime, 
Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time ? 
There's men o' taste would tak the Ducat-stream,* 
Tho' they should cast the very sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 
Conceited gowk ! pufF'd up wi' windy pride ! 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sa.ir forfairn, 
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a' -day rains, 
Wi' deep'ning deluges o'erflow the plains ; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where the" Greenock winds his moorland course, 
Or haunted Garpal-f draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, 
In mony a torrent down his sna-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 
And from Glenbuck, \ down to the Ratton-Jcey, § 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen^!, tumbling sea; 
Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumhe jaups up to the pouring skies. 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

* A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. 

f The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the Wes 
•f Scotland, where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name c 
Qhaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. 

\ The source of the river Ayr. 

§ A small landing-place above the large key, . 



s 



SI 

NEW BRIG. 
Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't f 
The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; 
O'er arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; 
Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshiped on the bended knee, \ 

And still the second dread command be free. 
Their likeness is not found on earthy in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or cuifs of latter times,, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Br ugh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! 

AULD BRIG. 
O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealfngs, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings I 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveeners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cle ners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gje your hurdies to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers ; 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ? 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degeh'rate race ! 
Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory* 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story. 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 



32 

But staumrel, corky -headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three-parts made by Tailors and oy Barbers, 
Wha waste your well-hain'd gear on d — d nevo Brigs 
and Harbours ! 

NEW BRIG. 
Now haud you there ! for faith ye've said eneugh, 
And muckle mair than j^e can mak to through, 
As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle ; 
But, under favor o' your langer beard, 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd : 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can liae a handle 
To mouth ' a Citizen,' a term o' scandal : 
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 

3 priggin owre hops an' raisins, 
jial views in Bonds and Seisins. 
s, on a random tramp, 

a glimmer of his lamp, 
And would to Common-sense, for once betray'd them, 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
'What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight, 
A. fairy train appeared in order bright : 

icring stream they featly dane'd ; 
noon their various dresses glanc'd ; 
fced o'er the watVy glass so neat, 

leneath their feet: 
relsy among them rung, 
And ig Bards heroic ditties sung. 

O had inn-inspiring Sage, 

Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
i thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with 
Highland rage, 
Or when they e truck old Scotia's melting airs, 
irM joys or bleeding cares; 

* A well known performer of Scottish music on die violin. 



I 



33 

How would his Highland lug been nobler nVd, 

And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd ! 

No guess could tell what instrument appeared, 

But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 

Harmonious concert rung in every part, 

While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
A venerable Chief advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lillies crown'd, 
His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; 
Then, crown'd with fiow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye ; 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; I 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
Next foiiow'd Courage with his martial stride, 
From where the Feat wild-woody coverts hide; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : 
Last, white rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken iron instruments of death ; 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. 



THE ORDINATION. 

For sense they little owe to Frugal Heav'n — - 
To please the Mob they hide the little giv'n. 

I. 

Kilmarnock Wabsters fidge an* claw, 

An' pour your creeshie nations ; 
An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, 

Of a' denominations, 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an* a% 

An* there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to B-gb — 's in a raw, 

An* pour divine libations 

For joy this day.. 



34, 

ii. 
Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h-11, 

Cam in wi* Maggie Lauder ;* 
But O ******* aft made her yell, 

An* R***** sair misca'd her ; 
This day M ******* taks the flail, 

And he's the boy will biaud her ! 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daub her 

Wi* dirt this day. 

III. 
Mak haste an* turn king David owre, 

An' lilt wi? holy clangor ; * 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor ; 
This day the kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her pov. 'r, 

An* gloriously shall whang her 

Wi* pith this day. 

IV. 
Come, let a proper text be read, 

An* touch it affwi* vigour, 
How graceless Ham* leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 
Or Phineasf drove the murdering blade, 

Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zipporah,% the scauldin jade, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

F tli* inn that day. 

V. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution. 
That Stipend is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion ; 

* Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of 
the late Reverend and worthy Mr. L. to the Laigh Kirk, 
* Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. 
f Numbers, ch. xxv. vei. 8. 
\ Exodus, ch. iv. ver, - 



35 

And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 
And punish each transgression ; 

Especial, rams that cross the breed, 
Gie them sufficient threshin, 

Spare them nae day. 

VI. 

Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail, 

And toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'It rowte out-owre the dale, 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o y gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o grace, the pick and wale, 

No gi'en by way o' dainty, 

But ilka day. 

VII. 
Nae mair by BabeVs streams we'll weep, 

To think upon our Zion : 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, 

And o'er the thairms be tryin ; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep, 

An' a' like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu' fast this day ! 

VIII 
Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' aim, 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately F-mv-ck, sair forfairn, 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly elect bairn, 

He's wal'd us out a true ane, 

And sound this day. 

IX. 

Now R******## harangue nae mair, 
But steek your gab for ever : 

Or try the wicked town of A**, 
For there they'll think you clever ; 



S6 

Or, nae reflection on your lear, 
Ye may commence a Shaver ; 

Or to the N-th-rt-n repair, 
And turn a Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand this day. 

X. 

M***** and you were just a match, 

We never had sic twa drones : 
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 

Just like a winkin baudrons : 
And ay' he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry them in his caudrons ; 
But now his honour maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 

Fast, fast this day 

XL 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingein thro' the city : 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! 

I vow its unco pretty : 
There, Learning, wi' his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

XII. 
But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' i'tllj 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there-they're packed aff to hell, 

And banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

XIII. 
O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair rind quarter : 



37 

!£<##***#, R**### f arG t l le b y S> 

That Heresy can torture ; 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 
And cow her measure shorter 

By th' head some day* 

XIV. 
Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 

And here's, for a conclusion, 
To every New Light* mother's son, 

From this time forth, confusion : 
If mair they deave us with their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day* 



THE CALF. 

TO THE REV. MR. - 



On his Text, Malachi, eh. iv. ver. 2. " And they shall go fortli, 
w and grow up, like calves of the stall." 

Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Though Heretics may laugh ; 
For Instance, there's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf! 

And should some Patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye 're still as great a Stirk. 

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot, 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Stot I 

Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, 

Your but-and-ben adorns, 
The like has been, that you may wear 

A noble head of horns, 

* New Light is a cant phrase, in the West of Scotland, for tho$e 
religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has defended so stre* 
nuously. 

t d 



38 

And in your lug, most reverend James, 

To hear you roar and rowte, 
Few men o* sense will doubt your claims 

To rank amang the novate. 

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
W? justice they may mark your head — 

' Here lies a famous Bullock/' 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



O Prince ! O Chief of many throned Pow'rs, 
That led th' embattled Seraphim to war. 

MUton. 

O Thou ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An* let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma 5 pleasure it can gie, 

E'en to a deil, 
To skelp an* scaud poor dogs like me, 
An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r, an* great thy fame ; 
Far kend and noted is thy name ; 
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, 

Thou travels far ; 
An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, rangin like a roarin lion, 
£or prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, 

Tirlin the kirks ; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, 
Unseen thou lurks. 



39 

I've heard my rev'rend Grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray, 
Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way, 
Wi' eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Grannie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin, 
Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night. 
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, 
Wi' you f mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough : 

Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stour, quaick — quaick-*. 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squattered, like a drake, 

On whistlin wings. 

Let warlocks grim, an* wither'd hags, 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, 
They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil an* pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtit, twal-pint Haivkie's gaen 

As yell's the Bill. 

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, 
On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house, 
By cantrip wit, 
D 2 



40 

Is instant made no worth a louse, 
Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoorcl^ 
An' float the jinglin icy-boovd, 
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction, 
An* 'nighted Trav'llers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunhies, 
Decoy the wight that 3ate an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys,. 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Masons' mystic xcord an' grip 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Aft* draught to hell ! : 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'cl, 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 

In shady bow'r : 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog ! 
Ye came to Paradise incog, 
An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
An* gied the infant warld a shog 

'Alaist ruin'd a'. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
W 7 i' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better fo'k, 
An* sklented on the man of Uzz 

Your spitefu' joke ?■ 

An* how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hall, 



41 

While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 
Wi' bitter claw, 

An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl, 
Was warst ava ? 

But a* your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael* did you pierce, 
Down to this time, 
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinking 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith ! Ke'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat you yet. 

But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben I 
O wad ye tak a th ought an' men' ! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake, 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den 

Ev'n for your sake I 



THE 



DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF 
POOR MAILIE, 

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 

AN UNCO JIOURNFu' TALE, 

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a. hitch, 
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc* he cam doytin by. 

* Vide Milton, Book VL 

* A-neelor herd-caUafl.- 

D 3 



42 

Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's, 
IPoor Hughoc like a statue Stan's. 
He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it ! 
He gaped wide, but naething spak ! 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

' O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case-! 
My dying words attentive hear, . 
An' bear them to my Master dear. 

* Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mail* 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair \ 
But ca' them out to park or hillj 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' ! 

* Tell him, he was a Master kin", 
An' ay was guid to me an' mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him.. 

' O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives \ 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel : 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
W teats o' hay an' rips o' corn. 

* An' may they never learn the gaets 
Gf ither vile wanrestfu' pets ! 

To slink thro' siaps, an' reave an' steal, 

At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 

So may they, like their great Forbears, 

For monie a year come thro' the sheers : 

§o wives will gie them bits o' bread, 

An' bairns greet for them when they're dead, 

' My poor toop-Iamby my son an' heir, 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care I 
An', if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins in his breast! 



42 

An* warn him, what I winna name,, 
To slay content \vi' yowes at hame ; 
An' no to rin an' wear his cioots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless, brutes.. 

1 An' niest my j/oru/e, silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ; 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastk, moorland toop ; 
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel !. 

« And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath,. 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your Mither, 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

< Now, honest Flughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my Master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him barn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether/ 

This said, poor M'ailie turn'd her head, 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead ! 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose i 
Our bardie's fate is at a close j 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cape-stane of his woes, 

Poor MaiUe's dead ! 

Its no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 
In Mailie dead. 



Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him 4. 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 



44 

Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him„ 
She ran wi' speed : 

A frien' mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh hinv 
Than Mailie dead* 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense : 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 
Sin' Mailie's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
Her living image in her yovoe, 
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips ; 
For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tiveed ; 
A bonnier Jleesh ne'er cross'd the clips 

Than Mailie's dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape ! 
It maks. guid fellows girn an' gape, 

Wi' chokin dread ^ 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

O, a' ye bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robins reed i 
His heart will never get aboon ! 

His Mailie's dead. 



45 
TO J. S****. 

Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul r 
Sweet'ner of life, uml solder of society ! 

I owe thee much. 

Miir. 

Dear S****, the sleest, paukie thief, 

That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Qwre human hearts j- 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 

For me, 1 swear by sun an' moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mak taen I'm wi' you* 

That auld capricious carlin, Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you aif, a human creature 

On her Jirst plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote, the Maru 

Just now IVe taen the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancie yerkit up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin ? 

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 
Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu* cash 5, 
Some rhyme to court the countra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot. 
Has fated me the russet coat, 
An damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But in requit, 
Has bless'd me wi' a random shot 
O' countra wit,. 



46 

This while my notion's taen a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid black prent / 
But still the niair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries, * Hoolie ! 
' I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 

i Ye'll shaw your folty. 

c There's ither poets, much } r our betters, 
1 Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
1 Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 

1 A' future ages ; 
' Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

* Their unknown pages.' 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistlin thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 
My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on, with tentless heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with tli* inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone I 

But why o* death begin a tale ? 
Just now we're living sound an' hale, 
Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave care o'er side ! 
And large, before enjoyment's gale, 
Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 
Is a' enchanted fairy land, 
Where pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 

Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic-wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an-forty's speePd, 
See crazy, weary, joyless eild, 

Wi' wrinkled face* 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 



47 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin ; 
An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin, 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel, dear deludin woman, 

The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, 
To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves; 
And though the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 
The) r drink the sweet, and eat the tat, 

But care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim, some fortune chase ; 
Keen Hope does every sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race ; 

And seize the prey ; 
Then cani.e, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan' ; 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on, 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin, 
They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But, truce with peevish, poor complaining i 
Is fortune's fickle Luna waining ? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 
Let's sing our sang. 



48 

My pen I here fling to the door, 
And kneel, ' Ye Pow'rs !' and warm implore, 

* Tho' I should wander terra o'er, 

' In all her climes, 
1 Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

' Ay rowth o' rhymes, 

* Gie dreepin roasts to countra lairds, 

* Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 

4 Gie fine braw claes to fine lire-guards, 
' And maids of honour ; 

* And yill an' whisky gie to cairds, 

4 Until they sconner. 

* A title Dempster merits it ; 
1 A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 

« Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 
In cent, per cent. 

' But give me real, sterling wit, 

' And I"m content. 

1 While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 

* I'll sit down o'er my scant}- meal, 

* Be't water-brose or muslin-kail, 

1 Wi s cheerfu' face, 
' As lang's the muses dinna fail 

' To say the grace.' 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk beneath misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may ; 
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 

I rhyme away. 

O ye douce folk. by rule, 

Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compared wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool ! 
How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 
Your lives, a dyke ! 

Nae hair -brain' d sentimental traces 
In your unletter'd, nameless faces i 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stra 
But, gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away* 



49 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're toise ; 
Nae ferly tho ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 
The rattlin squad : 
I see you upward cast your eyes — 

— Ye ken the road. — 

Whilst I — but I shall haud me there — 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang, 
Content wi* you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. ' • 



A DREAM. 

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason ; 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason. 



[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureates Ode, with the other 
parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, 
than he imagined himself transported to the lirth-day levee j and 
in his dreaming fancy made the following Address.] 



Guid-Morning to your Majesty ! 

May heav'n augment your blisses, 
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, 

A humble poet wishes ! 
My hardship here, at your levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang the birth-day dresses 

Sae fine this day. 

I see ye're complimented thrang, 

By moiiy a lord and lady ; 
* God save the king !' 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The poets too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But ay unerring steady, 

On sic a day. 
t E 



50 

For me ! before a monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on your grace, 

Your kingship to bespatter ; 
There's mouie waur been o' the race, 

And aiblins ane been better 

Than you this day. 

'Tis very true, my sov'reign king-, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But facts are chiels that winna ding, 

An' downa be disputed : 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft and clouted, 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

Than did ae day. 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But, faith ! I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

Ye've trusted ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fill'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, 

Her broken shins to plaster; 
Your sair taxation does her fieece, 

Till she has scarce a tester ; 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain rearing faster, 
Or i'aith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

I' the craft some day. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true w's get, 

A name not envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

^n' Jessen a' your charges : 



51 

But, G-d's-sake ! let nae saving-fit 
Abridge your bonnie barges 

An' boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may ye rax corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Qacen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birth- day. 

Hail Majesty Most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple poet gies ye ? 
Thae bonnie bairntime, Heaven has lent, 

Still higher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 

For you, young potentate o' W , 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er ye brak Diana's, pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, 

By night or day. 

Yet aft a ragged coyote's been known 

To mak a noble aiver ; 
So, ye may doucely fill a throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There, him* at Agincourt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir Jolm, •(• 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 

* King Henry V. 
+ Sir John Falstaff: vide Shakespeare. 

E 2 



52 

For you, right rev'rend O , 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Although a ribban at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye'll stain 4he mitre 

Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galley,* stem an' stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter, 
Then heave aboard your grapple aim, 

An', large upo' her quarter, 

Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a* plenty : 
But sneer nae Brithh boys awa', 

For kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German gentles are but sma\ 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dawtet ; 
But, ere the course o' life be thro', 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrow't^ at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen they hae clautet 

Fu' clean that day. 

• Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal sailor's 



53 
THE VISION. 

DUAN FIRST,* 
The sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roarin play, 
An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way 

To kail -yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been. 

The thresher's weary jlingin-tree, 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And when the day had cios'd his e'e, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lamely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey ? d the spewing reek, 
That fiil'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld clay biggin ; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeek 

About the riggin ; 

All in this inottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthru' prime, 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank an* clarkit 

My cash account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 
Is a' til* amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coofl 
And heavM on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some* rash aith, 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 
Till my last breath — 

* Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a degressive 
poem. See his Quth-Loda, vol. ii. of M'PIierson's translation* 

E 3 



54 

When click ! the string the snick did draw ; 
And jee ! the door gaedto the wa' ; . 
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form' d, was crusht ; 
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, 
And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly -boughs 
Were twisted, graceful', round her brows ; 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A l hair-brain'd, sentimental trace,' 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly -witty rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with honor. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 
A well known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost : 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone A it's lofty boast, 
The lordly dome. 



55 

Here, Doon pour'd down his f'ar-fetch'd floods, 
There, well-fed Iavine stately thuds : 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 
An ancient borough rear'd her head, 
Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

An' polish'd grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 
Or ruins pendent in the air, 
Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 
To see a race* heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Southron foes. 

His Country's Saviour,** mark him well ! 
Bold Richardton'sf heroic swell : 
The chief on Sark, J who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land, 

There,- where a scepter'd Pictish shade § 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 

* The Wallaces. ** William Wallace. 

f Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver 
of Scottish independence, 

i Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under 
Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, 
fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the 
judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, 
-who died of his wounds al'ier the action. 

§ Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to 
take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family-seat of the 
iBlofltgcmenes of Coil's-field, where his burial-place is still shown, 



56 

I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd 

In colours strong ; 

Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 

Thro' many a wild, romantic grove,f 
Near many a hermit fancied cove, 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love) 

In musing mood, 
An aged judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe| 
The learned sire and son I saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw, 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward$ I well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who cail'd on fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on, 
Where many a patriot name on high, 

And hero shone. 



DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
1 view'd the heav'nly-seemingya /r ; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear, 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet. 

' All hail ! my own inspired bard ! 
1 In me thy native muse regard ! 

* Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

' Thus poorly low ! 

* I come to give thee such reward 

* As we bestow. 

f Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Oerk. 
J Catrine, the seat of the late doctor, and present professor Stewart. 
§ Colonel Fulhrton. 



57 

* Know, the great genius of this land 
' Has many a light, aerial band, 

* Who, all beneath his high command, 

' Harmoniously, 
1 As arts or arms they understand, 

* Their labours ply. 

1 They Scrrfia's race among them share ; 
' Some lire the soldier on to dare ; 
' Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

* Corruption's heart : 
' Some teach the bard, a darling care, 

' The tuneful art. 

* 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 

* They, ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 

* Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar, 

-' They, sightless, stand, 
' To mend the honest patriot- lore, 

* And grace the hand. 

1 And when the bard, or hoary sage, 

* Charm or instruct the future age, 
' They bind the wild poetic rage 

1 In energy, 
' Or point the inconclusive page 

1 Full on the eye. 

* Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
' Hence Dempster's zeal inspired tongue ; 

* Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

* His " Minstrel lays ;" 

* Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

' The sceptic's bays. 

1 To lower orders are assign'd 

* The humbler ranks of human kind, 
1 The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 

' The Artisan ; 

* All chuse, as various they're inclin'd, 

* The various man. 

' When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
' The threat'ning storm some strongly rein^ 

* Some teach to meliorate the plain 

* With tillage-skill ; 

* And some instruct the shepherd-train 

* Blythe o'er the hill. 



58 

1 Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 

* Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
' Some soothe the lab'rer's weary toil, 

' For humble gains, 

< And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

' His cares and painSr 

1 Some, bounded to a district-space, 

* Explore at large man's infant race, 
' To mark the embryotic trace 

' Of rustic Bard ; 

* And careful note each op'ning grace, 

'.A guide and guard. 

* Of these am I — Coila my name ; 
1 And this district as mine I claim, 

< Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, 

* Held ruling pow'r : 
' I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 

1 Thy natal hour. 

* With future hope, I oft would gaze, . 
' Fond, on thy little early ways, 

* Thy rudely caroll'd chiming phrase, 

* In uncouth rhymes, 
f Fir'd at the simple artless lays 

1 Of other times. 

1 I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 

* Delighted with the dashing roar ; 

' Or when the north his fleecy store 

* Drove thro' the sky, 
' I saw grim nature's visage hoar, 

' Struck thy young eye. 

* Or when the deep green-mantl'd earth 
' Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 

* And joy and music pouring forth 

' In ev'ry grove, 
' I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

' With boundless love. 

1 When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
1 Call'd forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
' I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

* And lonely stalk, 
' To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

' In pensive walk. 



59 

* When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, 

* Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 

* Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

' Th' adored Name, 

* I taught thee how to pour in song, 

' To soothe thy flame. 

' I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
' Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 

* Misled by fancy's meteor ray, 

* By passion driven ; 
i But yet the light that led astray 

' Was light from heaven. 

1 1 taught thy manners-painting strains, 
' The loves, the ways of simple swains, 

* Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

* Thy fame extends : 
' And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

* Become thy friends. 

* Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 

* To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow ; 

* Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

1 With Shenstone's art ; 
' Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

* Warm on the heart. 

' Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, 

* The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

' Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 
' His army shade, 

1 Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 
' Adown the glade. 

' Then never murmur nor repine ; 
{ Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
1 And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

* Nor kings' regard, 

* Can give a bliss o'er-matching thine, 

' A rustic Bard, 

* To give my counsels all in one, 

* Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 

* Preserve the Dignity of Man, 

< With soul erect ; 

* And trust, the Universal Plan 

« Will all protect. 



60 

* And tvear thou this V — she solemn said, 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 
Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 
In light away. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, 

OR THE 

RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a rule, 

And lump them ay thegither ; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool, 

The Rigid Wise anither ; 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyles o' caff in ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fits o' daffin. 

Solomon. — Eccles. ch. vii. ver. IQ, 

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neebour's faults and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply'd wi' store o' water, 
The heapet happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 

For glaiket Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, 

And shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 



61 

And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 
Your better art o' hiding. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop : 
"WT wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco lee-way. 

See social-life and glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinkin, 
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 

Debauchery and drinkin : 
O, would they stay to calculate 

Th eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded hell to state, 

D-nmation of expenses ! 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Ty'd up in godly la<es, 
Before ye gie poor frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases , 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treaeh'rous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang ; 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving vohy they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord — its various tone, 

Each spring, its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted, 
1" F 



62 



TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. 

An honest man's the noblest work of God. 

Pope. 

Has auld K********* seen the Deil? 
Or great M******* f thrawn his heel ! 
Or it******** £ again grown weel, 

To preach an' read ? 
' Na, waur than a' !' cries ilka chiel, 

Tam Samson's dead! 
K######*## i an g ma y gr U nt an* grane, 
An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, 
An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, 

In mourning weed ; 
To death, she's dearly paid the kane, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

The brethren of the mystic level 
May hing their head in woefa' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revel, 

Like ony bead ; 
Death's gien the lodge an unco devel : 

Tam Samson's dead! 

When winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock ? 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

He was the king o' a' the core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time of need ; 
But now he lags on death's hog-score 

Tam Samson s dead ! 

* When this worthy old sportsman went out last moorfcv.l season, he 
supposed it was to be, in Osbian's phrase, ' the last of his fields ;' and 
expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the moors. On this hint 
the author composed bis elegy and epitaph. 

f A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. Fide the 
II. 
»ther preach r, an equal favourite with the few, who was at that 
ling. For him, see also the Ordination, stanza IX. 



63 

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, 
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And eels weel ken'd for souple tail, 

. And geds for greed, 
Since dark in death' sjish-crcel we Avail 

Tarn Samson dead ! 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a' ; 
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw ; 
Ye maukins, cock your fad fu' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal fae is now awa', 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd, 
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, och ! he gaed and ne'er return'd ! 

Tam Samson's dead. 

In vain auld age his body batters 
In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 
In vain the burns cam down like waters, 

An acre braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 

Tam Samson's dead-! 

Owre many a weary hag he limpit, 
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide ; 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi weel-aim'd heed ; 
* L — d, five !' he cry'd, an' owre did stagger ; 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ; 
Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather, 
Marks out his head, 
Whare Bums has wrote, in rhyming blether, 
Tam Samson's dead! 
F 2 



64 

There low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps, upon his mouldering breast 
Some spitefV moorfowl bigs her nest, 

To hatch an' breed ; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three vollies let his mem'ry crave 

O pouther an' lead, 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead 1 

Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be I 
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me ; 
He had twa faults, or may be three, 

Yet what remead ? 
Ae social, honest man want we, 

Tam Samson's dead I 



THE EPITAPH. 



Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies, 

Ye canting zealots, spare him ! 
If honest worth in heaven rise, 

Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, fame, an* canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets and neuks o' Killie,* 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin, 

For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg guliie, 

Tam Samson's livin. 

* KMie is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use for Kilmarnock. 



65 
HALLOWEEN.* 

[The following Poem will, by many readers, be well enough under- 
stood ; but, for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the man- 
ners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are 
added, to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that 
night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. 
The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history 
of human nature in its rude state- in all ages and nations ; and it may 
be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should ho- 
nour the author with a perusal, to see the remaims of it among the 
more unenlightened in our own.] 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 

Goldsmith. 

Upon that night, when fairies light, 

On Cassillis Doivnans\ dance, 
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Cidlean the route is ta'en, 

Beneath the moon's pule beams ; 
There up the couej, to stray an' rove 

Amang the rocks and streams 

To sport that night, 

Amang the bonnie winding banks, 

here Doon rins, wimpiin, clear, 
Where Bruee$ ance ral'd the martial ranks, 

An' shook the Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 

* Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief- 
makin m their baneful, midnight errands; parti- 

cularly those aerial people, the : said on that night to hold a 

grand anniversary. 

f Certain little, romantic, r> alls, in the neighbourhood of 

the ancient seat of the Earls of C 

i A noted cavern near Cullean-house, called The Cove of Cullean, 
which, as Cassillis Downans, is fumed in country story for being a fa- 
vourite haunt of fairies. 

§ r J of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the- 

great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick. 

F 3 



66 

To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, 
And haud their Halloween 

Fu' biythe that night. 

The lasses feat, an* cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces biythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 

Whiles fast that night. 

Then first and foremost, thro' the kail, 

Their stocks* maun a' be sought ance ; 
They steek their een, an' graip an' wale, 

For muckle anes an' straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the jirift, 

An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, 
An' pou't, for want o' better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; 
The vera wee things, todlin, rin 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
An' gif the custoc's sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've placM them 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a* 
To pou their stalks o' corn ;f 

* The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, or plant 
«f kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the 
first they meat with : Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is pro- 
phetic of the size and shape of the grand o! ject of all their spells — the 
husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick lo the root, that is tocker, 
er fortune; and the taste of the custoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is 
indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stuns, or 
to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere 
above the head of the door ; and the christian names of the people whcoi 
chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of placing 
the runts, the names in question. 

f They go t,o til? fcarn-yar<J and puli each, at ftree several times, a 



67 

But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 
He grippet heiiy hard an' fast ; 

Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 

When kiuttlin in the fause-house* 

Wi' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel hoordet nits\ 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads and lasses* fates, 

Are there that night decided: 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An* burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa wi' saucy pride, 

And jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ; 

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock) an' this is me, 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part ! 
Till fuff ! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie Maliie ; 
An' Mailie, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

A'n her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, and swoor by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that night. 

stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain 
at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage- 
bed any thing but a maid. 

* When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, 
the stack builder, by means of old timber, &c. makes a large apartment 
in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the 
wind : this he calls a fause-house. 

f Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and lass 
to eacb particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and accordingly as 



68 

Nell had the fause-house in hermin* . 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin : 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view, 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for t : 
Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonnie mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, 

An' slips out by hersel : 
She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes then, 
An' darklins grapit for the bauks, 

And in the blue-clue* throws then, 

Right fear't that night. 

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin ; 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid L — d ! but she was quakin I 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 

Wee Jenny to her Graunie says, 

1 Will ye go wi' me, graunie ? 
* I'll eat the apple-f at the glass, 

' I gat frae uncle Johnie :' 

they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course 
and issue of the courtship will be. 

* Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe 
these directions : Steal out, all alon.e, to tlie kiln, and, darkling, threw 
into the pot a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue off the old one; 
and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread ; demand, 
w.'ia hands ? i. e. who holds? an answer will be returned from the kiln- 
pot, by naming the christian and surname of your future spouse. 

f Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass ; eat an apple before 
it, and some traditions say, you should comb your hair all the time ; the 
face of your conjugal companion to be, will be seen in the glass, as if 
peeping over your shoulder. 



GO 

She fuff't her pipe wi ; sic a lunt, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She notic't na, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro* that night. 

' Ye little skelpie-limmer's face ! 

1 How daur you try sic sportin, 
' As seek the foul Thief on y place, 

4 For him to spae your fortune : 
1 Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

* Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 

■ For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 

* An' liv'd an' di'd deleeret 

* On sic a night. 

* Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, 

' I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
' I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 

' I was na past fyfteen : 
1 The simmer had been cauld an^wat, 

' An' stuff was unco green ; 

* An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

* An' just on Halloween 

1 It fell that night. 

' Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 

* A clever, sturdy fallow ; 

' His Sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

* That liv'd in Achmacalla : 

' He gat hemp-seed,* I mind it weel, 
1 An' he made unco light o't ; 

* But monie a day was by himsel, 

4 He was sae sairly frighted 

* That vera night.' 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fieck, 
An' he swore by his conscience, 

* Steal out unpeiceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed; harrowing 
it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now 
and then, * Hemp seed I saw thee, hemp seed I saw thee; and him (or 
her) that is to be my true-love, come after me and pou thee.' Look 
over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person in- 
voked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, ' come 
'after me, and shaw thee,' that is show thyself : in which case it simply 
appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, ' come after me, and 
harrow thee.' 



70 

That he could saw hemp-seed a peck, • 

For it was a' but nonsense ; 
The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
S} T ne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him, 

An* try't that night. 

He marches thro* amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin ; 
The graip he for a harrow taks, 

An' haurls at his curpin : 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

' Hemp-seed I saw thee, 
* An' her that is to be my lass, 

* Come after me, and draw thee, 

4 As fast this night\ 

He whistl'd up Lord Lenox* march,. 

To keep his courage cheery ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeek, 

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbi'd wi' a wuntle 

Out-owre that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young an' auld came rinnin out, 

To hear the sad narration : 
He swoore 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An' wha was it but Grumphie 

Asteer that night. 

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen 
To win three wechts o' naething ;* 

* This chaim must likewise be performed unperceived, and alone. 
You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if 
possible; for there is danger that the being, about to appear, may shut 
the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used 
in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dial -ct, we call a n\cht ; 
and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. 



71 

But for to meet the deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red cheekit apples, 
To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 

That vera night. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 

An' owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ration rattled up the wa', 

An* she cry'd L — d preserve her ! 
An' ran thro' midden-hole an* a, 

An' pray'd wP zeal an' fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice ; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the stack hefaddom'd thrice^ 

Was timmer propt for thrawin : 
He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, 

For some black, grousome carlin ; 
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes came haurlin 

Aff 's nieves that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As canty as a kittlen ; 
But, Och ! that night, amang the shaws, 

She got a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn\ 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 

Repeat it three times ; and the third time an apparition will pass through 
the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure 
in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or 
station in life. 

* Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a Bearstack, and fathom 
it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch 
in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. 

f You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a scuth run- 
ning spring or rivulet, where ' three lairds' lands meet,' and dip your left 



7<2 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter' d to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bick'ring, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazle, 

Unseen that night. 

Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 

Near lav'rock height she jumpit, 
But miss't a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi* a plunge that night. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies three* are ranged, 
And every time great care is ta'en, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mars-year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, 

He heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

Wi* merry sangs, and friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary ; 
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an' cheary. 

shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang j r our -wet sleeve be- 
fore it to dry. Lie awake; and some time near midnight, an appari- 
tion, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come 
and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it. 

* Take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul water in another, 
leave the third empty : blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth 
where the dishes are ranged ; he (or she) dips the left hand : if by chance 
in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of 
matrimony a maid : if n the foul, a widow : if in the empty dish, it 
foretels with equal certainty no marriage at all It is repeated thre» 
times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered, 



73 

Till butter d so 9 ns,f wi' fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted aff careerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 



THE AULD FARMER'S 

NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION 

TO 

HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, 

On giving her the accustomed Ripp of Com to hansel in 
the New Year. 

A G UID New- Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' knaggie, 

Fve seen the day, 
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, an' glaizie, 

- A bonnie gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 
Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
Ajilly buirdly, steeve, an' swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, 

Like onie bird. 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my guid father's me ere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, 

An' fifty mark; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, 

An' thou was stark. 

| f Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Kd~ 
\ foween Supper. 

t G 



74. 






When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But namely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 

An' unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, 
"When ye bure hame my bonnie bride ; 
An' sweet an' gracefV she did ride, 

Wi* maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye do but hoyte and hobble. 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, 
That day ye was a jinker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble, 

Far, far behin\ 

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, 
An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh, 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, 
"We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaecL 

The sma', droop -rumpl't, hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, 

An' gar't them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble jittie-Jan, 
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 



75 

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weeUfill'd brisket, 

Wi' pith and pow'r, 
Till spritty knovves wad rair't and risket, 

An' slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, 
An' threaten'd labour back to keep, 
I gicd thy cog a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it : 
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit, 

Then stood to biaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov't awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' : 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw : 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen punds an' twa, 

The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An* monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat I 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin, 

For my lastybiv, 
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether, 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 

G 2 



76 
TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE 
PLOUGH, NOVEMBER 1785. 

Wee sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, 
O' what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murdering pattle I 

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which maks thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An'. Hal! 

I doubt na' whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A daiiv.cn iclct, 

'S a sma' request : 
I'll get a blessin wi' the 

And never mi 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin ! 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' f een ! 

An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell and keen i 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' weary winter comin f 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hold, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 



77 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving Jores ight may be vain : 
The best laid schemes o' mice an* men t 

Gang aft a-gley, 
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi* me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear ! 
An* forward, tho* I canna see, 

I guess an' Jear. 



A WINTER NIGHT. 

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pityless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your loop'd and window'd rag^edness, defend you 
From seasons such as these — 

r Shakespeare, 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; 
When Phoebus gies a short-hVd glow'r 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirling drift : 

Ae night the storm the steeple's rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was" locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, 

Down headlong hurl. 

List'ning, the doors an' win nocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 
O' winter war, 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprattle> 
Beneath a scar. 
G, 3 



78 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, ' 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ! 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, 
An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd, 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole — 

' Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust ! 
6 And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost 1 
' Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
' Not all your rage, as now united, shows 

* More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 

* Vengeful malice unrepenting, 

• Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestows \ 
6 See stern oppression's iron grip, 

* Or mad ambition's gory hand, 

* Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 

4 Woe, want, and murder o'er a land ! 
' Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 

* Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
' How pamper'd luxury, flatt'iy by her side, 

' The parasite empoisoning her ear, 

* With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
' Looks o'er proud property, extended wide ; 

* And eyes the simple rustic hind, 

* Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
' A creature of another kind, 

' Some coarser substance, unrefm'd, 
J Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus \Ue } below I 



79 

' Where, wliere is love's fond, tender throe, 

* With lordly honour's lofty brow, 

1 The pow'rs you proudly own ? 

* Is there, beneath love's noble name, 

* Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

1 To bless himself alone ! 

* Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

* To love-pretending snares, 

* This boasted honour turns away, 

* Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 

' Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs ! 
1 Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest, 

* She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 

1 And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking 
« blast ! 

' Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 
' Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
1 Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 

* Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
' Ill-satisfy'd keen nature's clam'rous call, 

' Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 
' While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
' Chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap ! 
' Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 

* Where guiit and poor misfortune pine I 

* Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 

* But shall thy legal rage pursue 

* The wretch, already crushed low 

* By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ? 
' Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 

' A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !' 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage -rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind — 

Thro' all his works abroad, 
The heart, benevolent and kind, 

The most resembles God. 



80 
EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET.* 

January 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In namely westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chiinla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, 
That live sae bien an' snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker, 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r, 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't : 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho v we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and iier : 
1 Mair spier na, nor fear na',f 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg,- 
The last ot, the warst o't, 
Is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 
When banes are craz'd and biuid is thin, 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 

* David Si'Iar, one of the club at Tarbolton.. 
f Ramsay. 



81 

The honest heart that's free frae a* 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However fortune kick the ba', 
Has ay some cause to smile, 
And mind still, you'll find still 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa\ 

What tho', like commoners of iiir. 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daises deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound, 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit an' sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time tili't, 
And sing't when we hae done. 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in makin rnuckle mair : 
It's no in books ; it's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart ay's the part ay, 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardiv worth their while ? 



82 - 

Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress I 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearless 
Of either heav'n or hell 1 
Esteeming,, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae jriet wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Thp' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 

And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I, 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy, 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart. 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

O' all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love ! 

Thou know'st_my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro', my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 



Deprive my soul of rest, 



83 

Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O hear my fervent pray'r ; 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear I 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had numbered out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
„ The tenebrific scene, 

To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean, 

O, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phcebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, 
An' rin an unco fit : 

But least then, the beast then, 

Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll light now, and dight now 
His sweaty wizen' d hide. 



84, 



THE LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE 
ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. 

Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 
And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe ! 

Home. 

Thou pale orb, that silent shines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 

With woe I nightly vigils keep, 

Beneath thy wan unwarming beam ; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly-marked distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly- fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamenting^ claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame ; 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft attested pow'rs above : 
The promised Father's i -e ; 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flown • 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 



85 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth, 

Her way may lie thro* rough distress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will sooth, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less ? 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
That breast how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Even ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
1 see the hours in long array, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train, 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore-harass'd out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 
Or, if I slumber, fancy, chief, 

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright : 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

O ! thou bright queen, who o'er th* expanse, 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wandering, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual kindling eye. 

t H 



86 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never, to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I'll wander thro' : 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY, 

AN ODE. 

Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh : 
O life ! thou art a galling load, 
A long, a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim backward as I cast my view, 
What sick'ning scenes appear J 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro', 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
But with the closing tomb i 

Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd, 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon' d wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
And joyless morn the same ; 
You,* bustling, and justling. 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain. 



87 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to heav'n on high, 
As wand'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part : 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys r 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here, must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh ! enviable, early days, 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all r 
Of dim-declining age ! 
H 2 



88 
WINTER. 

A DIRGE. 

The wintry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest 

And pass the heartless day. 

<* The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,''* 

The joyless winter-day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it sooths my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join, 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Potv'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy Will ! 
Then all I want (O, do thou grant 

This one request of mine!) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign* 



THE COTTAR'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, ESQ. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short but simple annals of the poor. 

Gray. 

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend ! 
No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
* Dr. Young. 



89 

With honest pride I scorn each selfish end ; 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise t 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 

What A**** in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween t 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 

The shortening winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : 
The toil-worn Cottar frae his labour goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view,. 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 
Th' expectant tvee-tkings, toddlin, stacher thro* 

To meet their Dad, wi* flichterin noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonniiy, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie voifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour- an' his toil. 

Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in, 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bioom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, 

Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weeifare kindiy spiers : 
The social hours, swift- wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view ; 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new •; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 
II 3 



90 

Their master's an* their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
4 An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

' An' ne'er, tho* out o' sight, to jauk or play : 
' An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

* An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! 
' Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

* Implore his counsel and assisting might : 
* They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord aright 1' 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pieughs, and kj'e. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy ; 

But blate and laithfu*, scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi* a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfV an* sae grave ; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
' If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

1 One cordial in this melancholy vale, 

' 'Tis when a youthfu' loving, modest pair, 
* In others arms breathe out the tender tale, 
* Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents theev'ninggale.* 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 
A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 

That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 

Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth I 
A$e honour, virtue, conscience* all exil'4 \ 



91 

Is there no pity, no relenting Ruth, 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild ! 

But now the supper crowns their simple board, 

The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only Havokie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell,. 
An* aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
How 'twas a towinond auld, sin' lint was i* the bell. 

The cheerfu supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha bible, ance his father's pride :. 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And ' Let us worship GOD!' he says, with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs> worthy of the name : 
Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays l 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 

How Abo-am was the friend of God on high 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; 



92 

How He, who bore in Heaven the second name-,. 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 
How his first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand : 
And heard great Bab'lons doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's 
command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
Hope * springs exulting on triumphant wing,'* 

That thus they ail shall meet in future days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creators praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride* 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide, 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! 
The P<.vor incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart, 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul ; 
And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to heaVen the warm request, 
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 
< An honest man's the noblest work of God :* 

And ceii.es in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 
The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 

* Pope's Windsor Forest. 



93 

What is a Iordling's pomp ! a cumbrous load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd ! 

O Scotia J my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sous of rustic toil r 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content i 
And, O ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er croxuns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of lire around their much-lcVd Isle, 

O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart ; 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert : 

But still the patriot and the patriot bard-, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard \ 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN, 

A DIRGE. 



When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning as I wander'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seemed weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair. 

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ? 

Began the rev'rend sage ; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,. 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ; 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to moum 

The miseries of man ! 



94. 

The sun that overhangs yon moors^ 

Out -spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That man was made to mourn. 

O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mispending alJ thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives nature's law,. 

That man was made to mourn. 

Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right : 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want, Oh i ill match'd pair * 

Show man was made to mourn. 

A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, Oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land, 

Are wretched and forlorn ; 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That man was made to mourn. 

Blany and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves,. 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 
So abject, mean, and. vile,, 



95 

Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly Jellotvworm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave,— 

By nature's law design'd, 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

Yet, let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never sure been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

O death ! the poor man's dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest I 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, Oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! 



A PRAYER 

IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun; 
As something, loudly, in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 



96 

Thou know'st that thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong ; 

And listening to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All-Good! for such thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But Thou art good ; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

Why am I loath to leave this earthly scene ? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms : 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 
I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, ' Forgive my foul offence I' 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; 
Again in folly's path might go astray : 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man : 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan ? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? 

O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controuling pow'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong furious passions to confine ; 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
O, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine / 



97 



LYING AT A REVEREND FRrEND'S HOUSE ONE 
NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT 

THE FOLLOAV1NG VERSES 

IX THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 

O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ! 

I know thou wilt me hear, 
When for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 

Long, long, be pleas'd to spare ! 
To bless his little filial flock, 

And show what good men are. 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
O, bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope, their sta}', their darling youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish ! 

The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, 

Guide thou .their steps alway. 

When soon or late (hey reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in Heav'n ! 



THE FIRST PSALM 

The man, in life wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

■t i 



98 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow : 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And, like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest, 

But hath decreed that wicked mea 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



A PRAYER, 

ONDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH. 

O Tnou Great Being ! what thou art 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet ^ure I am, that known to thee 

Are all thy works below. 

Thy e-eature here before thee stands, 

All wretched and distrest ; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey thy high behest. 

Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then, man my soul with firm resolves 

To bear and not repine ! 



99 
THE FIRST SIX VERSES 

OK TIIK 

NINETIETH PSALM. 

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human raee ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place 1 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself 

Arose at thy command ; 

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought : 
Again thou say'st, ' Ye sons of men, 

1 Return ye into nought !' 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flower, 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down it lies 

All withered and decay'd. 



TO A 

MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

On turning one down with the Plough, in April 1786, 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
I 2 

1 o f C 



100 

For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem ; 

To spare thee now is past my paw'r, 
Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie Lark, companion meet ! 
Bending thee *mang the dewy weet ! 

Wi* spreckled breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe. to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble, birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, 
But thou, beneath the random bield 
O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie siibble-Jield, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread. 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies J 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweetjtoiv'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 
Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er * 



101 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'nr, 
Who long with wants and woes has sti 
By human pride or cunning driv'n, 

To mis'ry's brink, 
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but tieav*n 9 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn st the Daisy's fate,. 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, eiate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom I 



TO RUIN. 

All hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall [ 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie } 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then lovv'ring, and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning 
Round my devoted head. 

And, thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, 
While life a pleas ure can afford, 
Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink appah'd, afraid; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 
To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day ; 
My weary heart its throbbing cease,. 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face j 
Enclasped, and grasped, 
Within thy cold embrace { 
I 3 



102 
TO MISS L— , 

\YITH BEATTIE'S POEMS AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT. 
January 1, 1787.. 

Again the silent wheels of time 

Their, annual round have driv'n, 
And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, 

Are so much nearer Heav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 

Is charg'd, perhaps, too true ; 
But may, dear maid, each lover prove 

An Edwin, still to you ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 

Mai/ 1786. 

I Lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, 

And, Andrew dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought^ 

Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 

Ijil no say, men are villains a* ; 

The. real, harden'd wicked, 
\Vha hae nae check but human law 4 

Are to a few restricke4.; 



103 

But, och ! mankind are unco \vea$v 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake,. 

Its rarely right adjusted! 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife. 

Their fate we should na censure* 
For still th' important end of life, 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him ;. 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him, 

Ay free^ aff ban' your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom cronie ; 
But still keep something to yourset 

Ye scarcely teil to onie. 
Conceal yoursel as weel*s ye can. 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpened sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,. 

Luxuriantly indulge it; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it: 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard of concealing ; 
But, och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling. 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, 

Assiduous wait upon her ;, 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justified by honour ; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip^. 
To baud the wretch- in order ; 

But where ye feel your honour grig, 
Let that ay be your border ; 

Jts slightest touches, instant pause—* 
i)ebar a' side pretences ; 



104 

And resolutely keep its laws, 
Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature i 
But still the preaching cant forbear,. 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range,. 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange- 

For Deity oifended 1 

When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random stingy 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driven, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n, 

Is sure a noble anchor I 

Adieu, dear amiable youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting : 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, ' God send you speed,* 

Still daily to grow wiser : 
And may you better reck the rede, 

Than ever did th' adviser ! 



ON A SCOTCH BARD, 

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A' Ye wha live by soups o' drink,. 
A' ye wha live by crambo^clink, 
A' ye wha live and never think, 

Come mourn wi* me t 
Our billie's gien us a' a jink, 

An,' owre the sea, 

Lament him a' ye rantin core, 
Wha dearly like a random-splore, 
Kae mair he'll join the merry roar, 

In social key ; 
For now he 's taen anither shore, 

An' owre the sea* 



105 

The bonnie lasses wool may wTss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him : 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

Wi' tearful' e'e ; 
Far weel I wat they'll s-iirly miss him 

That's owre the sea. 

O Fortune, they liae room to grumble !' 
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle, 
Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 

'Twad been uae plea ; 
But he was gleg as onio wimib-le,. 

That's owre the sea. 

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ; 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart I fear, 

In flinders flee ; 
He was her laureate monie a year, 

That's owre the sea. 

He saw misfortune's cauld nor-ivest 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be \ 
So, took a birth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock* 
On scarce a belly iV o' drummock v 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't bis hurdies in a hammock* 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding* 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi* him it ne'er was under hiding ; 

He dealt it free : 
The muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel> 
An' hap him in a cozie biel : 
Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, 

And fou o' glee ; 



106 

He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, 

That's cure the sen. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billle ! 
Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lilly, 

Now bonnilie L 
I'll toast ye in- my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' owre the sea* 



TO A HAGGIS. 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race ! 
Aboon them a* ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm : 
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace, 

As lang's my aFm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While thro* your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labour dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an* strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, 

Beikankit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout. 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Qrjricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sccnner^ 
Locks down wi' sneerin, scornfu' view 
On sic a dinnet ? 



107 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
As feckless as a withered rash, 
His spindle shank a guid whip lash, 

His nieve a nit ; 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 
The trembling earth resounds his tread, 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 

That jaups in luggies; 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, 

Gie her a Haggis ! 



A DEDICATION. 

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

Expect na, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin, fleth'rin dedication, 
To roose you up, an* ca' you guid, 
An* sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye're surnam'd like his grace, 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu* lie, 
Set up a face, how I stopt short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. - 

This may do — maun do, Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou ; 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, / can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin, 
It's just sic poet an' sic patron. 



108 

The Poet, some guid angel help him,- 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him, 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
But only he's no just begun yet. 

The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me) 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, 
He's just— nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it, 
What ance he says he winna break it ; 
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd : 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : 
As master,, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na rail his part in either. 

But then, uae thanks to him for a' that ; 
Nae godly symptonk ye can ca' that ; 
It's naetning but a milder feature, 
Of our peor, sinfu' corrupt nature : 
Ye'U get the best o ? moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and Pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodo 
That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and dtcd, 
It's no thro' terror ofd-mn-tion; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly banc. 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
In mora! mercy, truth, and justice! 

Xo — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' a xvinnqck frae a wh-re, 
But point the rake that taks the door : 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane, 
And hand their noses to the grunstane ; 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 



} 



109 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel- spread looves, an' lang, wry faces ; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a* parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of C-h-n> 
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror ! 
When vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
Arid in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him ; 
While o'er the harp pale mis'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I 'maist forgat my dedication ; 
But when divinity comes 'cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

S j, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour,. 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate thein, Sir, to You: 
Because (ye need na tak it iil) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronise them wi' your favour, 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
I had amaist said, ever pray, 
But that's a word I need na say : 
For pray in I hae little skill o't ; 
I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't ; 
But I'se repeat each poor man's prayr, 
That kens or hears about you, Sir — 

* May ne'er misfortune's gowiing bark, 
' Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 

* May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 

* For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
' May K******'s far honour'd name 
' Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 

t K 



} 



110 

' Till H*******'s, at least a dizen, • 

* Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
' Five bonnie lasses round their table," 
' And seven braw fellows, stout an' able, 
c To serve their king and country weel, 
' By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 

* May health and peace, with mutual rays, 

* Shine on the ev'ning o' his days : 
' Till his wee curlie Johns ier-oe, 
' When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 

* The last, sad, mournful rites bestow [* 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Pow'rs above prevent !) 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor 
But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n! 
W r hile recollection's pow'r is given, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
I, thro* the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognize my master dear, 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, Sir, your hand — my friend and brother .' 

TO A LOUSE, 

OK SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie ! 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho* faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 



Ill 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonncr, 
Detested, shuim'd by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, 

On some poor body. 

Swith, in some beggar's haft'et squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle 
Wi' ither kindred, jumpin cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn and bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now baud ye there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'reis, snug an' tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height, 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump and gray as onie grozet : 
O for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddura, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

I wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flannen toy ; 
Or aibiins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi 1 fie, 

How dare ye do't ! 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The biastie's makin ! 
Thae luinJcs and Jinger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin ! 

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oicrsels as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us, 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in. dress an' gait wad iea'e us, 

And ev'n Devotion ! 



112 
ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once, beneath a monarch's feet, 

Sat legislation's sov'reign pov. 'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy trade his labours plies ; 
There architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks science in her coy abode. 

Thy Sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd. their lib'ral mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale : 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn ! 

Gay as the gilded summer skj r , 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy i 
Fair B — strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
I see the sire of love on high, 

And own his work indeed divine ! 

There, watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar ; 
L;ke some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; 
Have oft withstood jssailing war, 

And oft repeil'd th* invader's shock. 



113 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : 
Alas ! how chang'd the times to come ! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just ! 

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps, 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n / who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply my sires have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your fathers led ! 

Edina ! Scotia s darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
W T here once, beneath a monarch's feet, 

Sat legislation's sovereign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray 'd, 
And singing, lone, the Irng'rirrg hours, 

I shelter in thy honour' d shade. 



EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 
April 1st, 1785. 
While briers and woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks scraichm loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie whiddin seen, 

Inspire my muse, 
This freedom, in an unknown ft ien', 
I pray excuse. 

On fasten-een we had a rockin, 
To ca' the crack and weave our stockin ; 
And there was muckle fun an' jokin, 

Ye need na doubt; 
At length we had a hearty yokin 

At sang about* 
K13 



114 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a* it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, 
"What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, « Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

' Or Beattie's wark ?' 
They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spier't, 
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd 

He had ingine, 
Thatjiane excell'd it, few cam near't, 
It was sae fine. 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 
An' either douce or merry tale, 
Or rhymes an* sangs he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 
Tho' I should pawn my pieugh and graith, 
Or die a cadger pownie's death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an* gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost. I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am nae poet , in a sense, 
But just a rhymer, like, by chance, 
An' hae to learning nae pretence, 

Vet, what the matter? 
Whene'er my muse does on me glance, 
I jingle at her. 



115 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, * How can you e'er propose, 
* You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

1 To mak a sang f 9 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're maybe wrang. 

What's a* your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools, 

What sairs your grammars ? 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o* dull, conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek i 

Gie me ae spark o* Nature's fire, 
That's a' the learning I desire ; 
Then tho' I drudge thro* dub an' mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My muse, tho' namely in attire, 

May reach the heart, 

for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 
Or Fergussoti's, the bauld and slee, 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear eneugh for me, 
If I £ould get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'iieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 
I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends, and folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose me, 

Tho* I maun own, as monie stiU 

As far abuse m?. 



116 

There's ae tveefaut they whyles lay to me, 
I like the lasses — Glide forgie me ! 
For monie a plack they wheedle frae me 

At dance or fair ; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 
An* hae a swap o' rhymvn-'ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 
An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa, ye selfish warly race, 
Wha think that havins, sense, an* grace, 
Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place 

To catck-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

' Each aid the others V 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But to conclude my lang epistle, 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing, or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 



117 
TO THE SAME. 

April 21 tf, 1785. 

While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 

To own I'm debtor, 
To honest-hearted, auld Laprmk, 

For his kind letter. 

Forjesket sair, with weary legs, 
RattJin the corn out-owre the rigs, 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten-hours bite, 
My akwart muse sair pleads and begs, 

I would na write. 

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she ' Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 

1 This month an' mair, 

* That trowth my head is grown right dizzie, 

* An' something sair.' 

Her dowff excuses pat me mad ; 

* Conscience/ says I, « ye thowless jad ! 

* I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

' This vera night ; 

* So dinna ye affront your trade, 

1 But rhyme it right. 

1 Shall bauld Laprailc, the king o' hearts, 
' Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 

* Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

' In terms sae friendly, 
4 Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, 

* An' thank him kindly V 

Sae I gat paper in a blink, 
An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 
Quoth I, * Before 1 sleep a wink, 

* I vow I'll close it ! 

* An* if ye winna mak it clink, 

* By Jove I'll prose it !» 



118 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 

Just clean aff loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Tho' Fortune use you hard an' sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gteesorne touch ! 
' Ne'er mind how Fortune tvqft an' txarp • 

She's but a b-tch. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L — d, tho' I should beg 

Wi' ivart pow, 
I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow ! 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 

i", Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 
Behint a kist to lie and sklent, 
Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame, 
In some bit Brugh to represent 

A Baillie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps and bonnets aff are taen, 

As by he walks ? 

' O Thou wha gies us <eaeh guid gift 4 
* Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, 
' Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

' Thro' Scotland wide ; 
c Wi' cits nor 4airds I wadna shift, 

« In a' their pride l* 



119 

Were this the charter of our state, 
' On pain o' hell be rich an* great,' 
Damnation then would be our fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heav'n ! that's no the gate 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 
' The social, friendly, honest man, 

* Whate'er he be, 
4 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

' An* none but he J* 

O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers o* the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons o' Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

Tho* here they scrape, an' squeeze, an* growl, 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright ; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year. 



TO W. S*** ## N, 

OCHILTREE. 



May, 1785. 



I Gat your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

An* unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie, 

Your flatt'rin strain. 



120 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I should be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o* fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson / thy glorious parts, 
111 suited law's dry. musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes, 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 
As whyles they're like to be my dead, 
(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, 
She's gotten Bardies o' her ain, 
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd style ; 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 

Beside New Holland, 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarroiv an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irmn, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 
Naebody sings. 



121 

Th* Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a timet u' line ! 
But, Willie, set your foot to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We '11 gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an* fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, 
Her banks an* braes, her dens and dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace^ side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O, sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 

With wailfu' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
Or frosts on hills oi Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray ; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day ! 

O Nature ! a' thy shews an' forms 
To feeling,. pensive hearts hae charms! 
Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night ! 

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, 
Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An' no think lang ! 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 
t L 



lost 

The warly race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shouther, jundic, stretch, an' strive, 
Let me fair iSature's face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, l my rhyme-composing brither 1 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Is T ow let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal! 

While highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies : 
While terra firma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 
In Robert Burns. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen ; 
I had amaist forgotten clean, 
Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this Nexv-Light t * 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 
Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callans 
At grammar, logic, and sic talents, 
They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid lallans, 
Like you and me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the moon, 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon, 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new one. 

■ See note, p. 37. 



123 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it \vi\: ig ; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud and lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

An' out o' sight, 
An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd ; 
The herds an' kissels were alarm' d : 
The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd, 
That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ; 
An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' auld-light caddies bure sic hands, 
That faith, the youngsters took the sands 
Wi' nimble shanks, 
The lairds forbade, by strict commands, 
Sic bluidy pranks. 

But new-light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stow, 
Till now aniaist on ev'ry knowe 

Ye'il find ane plac'd ; 
An' some, their new-light fair avow, 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the auld-light Jlocks are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin ; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on 

By word an' write* 



124 

ButViortly they will cowe the loims t 
"Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons, 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay a month amang the moons 

An' see them right, 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 
A,n' when the auld moons gaun to lea'e them, 
The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, 

Just i 1 their pouch, 
An' when the neve-light billies see them, 

" I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naething but a ' moonshine matter ;' 
But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we Bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



EPISTLE TO J. R******, 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O Rough, rude, ready-witted R******, 
The wale o* cocks for fun and drinkin ! 
There's mony godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams* an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an* cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it! 
Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear it, 

The lads in blacky 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives't aff their back. 

* A certain humorous dream of his \ras then making a noise in 
the country-side 



l%5 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithfng^ 
It's just the blue-gown badge an* claithing 
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unre generate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain' d for an* mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang,* ye'll sen't wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ] 
My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ! 
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring r 

An' danc'd my fill ! 
I'd better gaen an' sair'd the king, 

At Bunker's HilL 

'Twas ae night lately in my fun, 
I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 
An' brought a paitrick to the grun, 
A bonnie hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 
I straikit ft a wee for sport, 
Ne'er thinkin they wad f/jsh me for'f ; 

But, deil-ma-eare ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale affair. 

Some auld us'd hands had ta'en a note, 
That sic a lien had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to. lie, 
So gat the whissle o' my groat,. 

An' pay't the fee* 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale,. 
An' by my pouther an' my hail, 

* A *W£ he. had promised the Author 

l a 



126 

An* by my hen, an* by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 

The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale, 
For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry, 
L — d, Pse hae sportin by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea ; 
Tho' I should herd the buchkin kye 

For't in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
*Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ! 

It pits me ay as m.ad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 
But pennyworths again is fair, 

When timers expedient ; 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN,* 

A BALLAD* 

There were thr$e kings into the east, 

Three kings both great and high, 
An* they hae sworn a solemn oath, 

John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and ploughed him down, 

Put clods upon his head, 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on,. 

And show'rs began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

An4 sore surpris'd them all. 

* This is partly composed on the plan of an old* swig known Ij 
ftr nmr linmri 



127 

The sultry suns of summer came, 
And he grew thick and strong, 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears* 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober autumn enter'd mild, 
When he grew wan and pale ; 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Show'd he began to tail. 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began. 

To shew their deadly rage. 

They've taen a weapon,, long and sharpy 

And cut him by the knee; 
Then ty'd him fas>t upon a eart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back^ 

And cudgell'd him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm,, 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn,, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor,. 

To work him farther woe, 
And still, as signs of life appear'di 

They tossM him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame* 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller u&'d him worst of all, 

For he crush'd him 'tween two stones* 

And they hae ta'en his very hearths blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank* 
Then- joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold* 

Of noble enterprise, 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

JTwiU make your Courage rise, 



128 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

Twill heighten all his joy : 
Twill make the widow's heart to sing^ 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn^ 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland t 



A FRAGMENT. 

Tune. 'Gillicrankie.' 

When Guilford good our pilot stoodV 

And did our helm thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat, 

And in the sea did jaw, man ; 
An' did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage, 

Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 
Till Willie Hotve took o'er the knowe- 

For Philadelphia, man : 
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 

Guid christian blood to draw, man u 
But at Nexv York, wi' knife an' fork, 

Sir-loin he hacked sma', man. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an* whip^ 
Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 

Then lost his way, ae misty day, 
In Saratoga shaw t man.. 






129 

Cormvallis fought as lang's he dought, 
An' did the buckskins claw, man ; 

But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 
He hung it to the wa', man. 

Then Montague, an' Guilford too, 

Began to tear a {'a', man ; 
And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure, 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a*, man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

An 1 lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. 

Then Rockingham took up the game ; 

Till death did on him ca', man ; 
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi jarring noise, 

They did his measures thraw, man, 
For North an* Fox united stocks, 

An' bore him to the wa', man. 

Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa 5 , man, 
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, 

Led him a sair faux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham s boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

' Up, Willie, waur them a', man 1' 

Behind the throne then GrenvilWs gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man) 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, ' Willie, rise ! 

' Would I hae fear'd them a', man ?' 

But, word an* blow, North, Fox, and Ca. 

GowfTd Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 



130 

An* Caledon threw by the drone, 
An' did her whittle draw, man ; 

An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood 
To make it guid in law, man. 



SONG. 

Tune, * Corn rigs are Bonnie,* 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonnie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early ; 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely : 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But. by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She aye shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blythe wi* comrades dear; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
Thae been joyfu* gath'rin gear ; 

I hae been happy thinkin ; 



131 

But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 

That happy night was worth them a', 
Amang the rigs o' barley. 



CHORUS. 



Corn rigs, an' larley rigs, 
An* corn rigs are bonnie : 

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs ivi Annie. 



SONG, 

COMPOSED IN AUGUST* 

Tune, ' I had a horse, I had nae mair.' 

Now westling winds, and slaught'ring guns 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, 

To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine ; 

Some solitary wander : 
A vaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, 

The flutt'ring, gory pinion ! 



But Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, • 

Thick ilies the skimming swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come let us stray our gladsome way. 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling'corn, the fruited thorn, 

And every happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer, 
So dear can be as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



SONG. 

Tune, ' My Nannie, OS 

Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows, 
' Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And Til awa to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws Joud an' shill ; 

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O 
But I'll get my pi aid, an' out Til steal, 

An' owre the hills to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' youn 
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 

May iil beta' the flattering tongue 
That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O : 

The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree, 

AnVfew there be that ken me, O; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. 



133 

My riches a's my penny-fee. 
An* I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a* my Nannie, 0. 

Our auld Guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O ; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

A FRAGMENT. 
CHORUS, 



Green grow the rashes, O J 

Green grow the rashes, 1 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

Were spent amang the lasses, 1 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han', 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 
What signifies the life o' man, 

An* 'twere na for the lasses, O. 

Green grow, &c. 

The warly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, O ; 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
Green grow, &c. 

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an warly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 

Green grow, &c. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 

Ye're nought but senseless asses, O : 
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 

Green grow, &c 
t M 



/ 



134 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dear* 
Her noblest work she classes, O : 

Her 'prentice han* she trf*d 6ft man, 
An' then she macte the lapses, (X 

Green grow, Ac. 



Tune, « Jockey's Grey Sreiks.* 

Again rejoicing nature see* 

Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
Her leafy locks wave in the Df e«e, 

All freshly steep'd in marning dews. 

CH0MM« 

And maun I still on Meriief doat. 

And bear the scorn fhaFs in her e'e t 
For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk. 

An it ivinna let a body be ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 

In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 
In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 

The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 

And maun I still, Sec* 

The merry ploughbdy cheers his fearn, 

Wi* joy the tentie Seedsman stalks, 
But life to me's a weary dream, 

A dream of ane that never wauks. 

And maun I still, Ac. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 
The stately 6wan majestic swims, 

And every thing is blest but I. 

And maun I still } Ac. 

* This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentfeaan in Edac- 
fcurgh. a particular friend of the author's. 

f Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamnt. 



135 

The sheep-herd sUeks his faulding slap, 
And owre the moorlands whistles shill, 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And maun I still, &c. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 
And maun I still, &c. 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will sooth my cheerless soul. 
When nature all is sad like me ! 

CHORUS.} 

And maun I still on Menie doat. 
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e f 

For it* s jet y jet black, an* ii?s like a hawk. 
An* it xoinna let a body be. 



SONG. 

Tune, * Roslin Castle.' 

The gloomy night is gatjh'nng fas£, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant bl&sit, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 
While here I wander, prest wi*ti care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
By early Winter's ravage ttorn ; 
Across her placid, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I mus,t dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr, 
M 2 



136 

'Tis not the surging billow's roar* 
'Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; 
T ho* death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dalesy 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ; Farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with, those— 
The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr. 



SONG. 

Tune, ■ GUderoy: 

From thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide* 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee ? 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh ! 



187 
FAREWELL 

TO THE 

BRETHREN 0F ST. JAMES's LODGE, TARBOLTON; 
Tune, ' Good night, and joy be xvi you a* P 

Adieu! a heart-warm fond adieu J 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie.* 
Ye favour'd, ye enlightened few, 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba', 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho* far awa\ 

Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night : 
Oft, honour'd with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And by -that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw • 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath th' omniscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect divine ! 
That you may keep th' unerring line t 

Still rising by the 'plummet 1 's Taw, 
Till order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa*. 

And you farewell ! whose merits claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear 1 
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name, 

To. Masonry and Scotia dear! 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One round, I ask it with a tear, 

To him, the Bard that's Jar axoa\ 
M 3 



138 
SONG. 

Tune, ' Prepare , my dear brethren, to the Tavern let'sjly.' 

No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 

I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low ; 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, 

And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; 
But see you the croiun how it waves in the air, 
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas \ she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; — 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

' Life's cares they are comforts,'* — a maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black 

gown ; 
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; 
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of care. 

A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge. 

Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, 

And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 

May every true brother of the compass and square 

Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care ! • 

? Young's Night Thoughts*. 



139 

WRITTEN IK 

FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE,, 

ON NITH-SIDE. 



Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lower. 

As youth and Love with sprightly dance,. 
Beneath thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure with her siren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup,, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale ? 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 
Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While cheerful peace, with linnet song,, 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-neuk of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought, 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, Man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate, 
Is not, Art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 



Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and .press it K>n their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find, 
The smile or frown of awful HeaVn, 
To virtue or to vice is giv'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base* 

Thus resign' d and guiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shall ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 
Till future .life, future no more, 
To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide ! 
Quod the beadsman of Nith-side. 



i 



ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW 
HENDERSON, 

A Gentleman ivho held the Patent for his honours 
immediately from Almighty God ! 

But now his radiant course is run, 

For Matthew's course was bright ; 
His soul was like the glorious sun, 

A matchless, Heav'nly Light ! 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody * 

The meikle devil wi' a woodie 

Haurl thee hanie to his black smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides. 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides J 

He's gane, he's gane, he's frae us torn, 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall moura 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exii'd. 






141 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 

Where echo slumbers !' 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers * 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens I 
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi'- hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn little harebells o'er the lee j 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bow'rs : 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o* flow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head, 
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed x 

1* th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi* airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day- 
*Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore,. 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 



14£ 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy twwrV, 
In *ome auld tree, or eldritch fcow'r, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glowY, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro* tlje dreary midinight hour 

Till waukrife morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains i 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 
Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, 
For him that's dead ! 

Thou, autumn, wi* thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night I 
And you, ye twinkling starnies brigfit, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his fligfa, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother I 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 
Life'.s-dreary ibound 1 
Like thee, where shall I £ad another, 
The world acound ! 

Go to ypur ficuipfeur'd tombs, ye Gteat,. 
In a' the tinsel trash o* state i! 
But by thy honest turf JKH -wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in .earth. 



143 
THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief : 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief, 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man ; 

A look of pity hither cast, 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a noble sodger art, 

That passest by this grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart ; 
For Matthew was a brave man*. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa', 
For Matthew was a kind man ! 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man ; 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain, 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou liast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man ; 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whingin sot, 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; 
May dool and sorrow be his lot, 

For Matthew was a rare man. 



LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF 
SCOTS, 

ON the: approach ov spring. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
On every blooming t*ee> 



U4 

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Phcebus cheers the crystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in its noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis mild wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae ; 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a', Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu* lightly raise I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman, 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Fra'e woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine J 



145 

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 

Remember him for me ! 

O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ] 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o* death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



ON THE DEATH OF 

SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

The lamp of day with ill-presaging glare, 

Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

TV inconstant blast howi'd thro* the darkening air, 
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, 

Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ;* 

Or mus'd where limpid streams once haliow'd, well,-]' 
Or tnould'ring ruins mark the sacred Fane. J 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beading rocks, 
The clouds swifr-wing'd flew o'er the starry sky, 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paly moon rose in the livid east, 

And mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately Form, 

In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, 
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. 

"Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 

'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, 
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 

* The King's Park, at Holy rood-house. 
f St. Anthony's Well. \ St. Anthony's Chapel, 

t N • 



146 

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 
Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, 

That like a deathful meteor gleam d afar, 

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world 

" My patriot son fills an untimely grave !" 

With accents wild and lifted arms she cried ; 
" Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 

" Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride. 
" A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 

" The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 
" The drooping arts surround their patron's bier, 

" And grateful science heaves the heart -felt sigh— 

a I saw my sons resume their ancient fire ; 

" I saw fair freedom's blossom richly blow : 
4i But ah ! how hope is born but to expire I 

" Relentless fate has laid their guardian low.—. 

" My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, 

" \\ hile empty greatness saves a worthless name ! 

" No; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
" And future ages hear his growing fame. 

"And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
" Thro' future times to make his virtues last ; 

" That distant years may boast of otVr Blairs" — 
She said, and vanish' d with the sweeping blast.— 



TO 

ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. 

OF FINTRA. 

Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest :) 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 
(It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,) 
And hear him curse the light he first survey 'd, 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade ? 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 



147 

The lion and the bull thy care have found, 

One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground ; 

Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 

Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. — 

Thy minions, kings defend, contro.il, devour, 

In all th* omnipotence of rule and power. — 

Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; 

The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 

Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug,. 

The priest and hedgehog, in their rones, are snug. 

Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 

Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard! 
A thing unteachabie in world's skill, 
And half an idiot too, more helpless still. 
No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun ; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not A-malthea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich dulness* comfortable fur, 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev ry side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics — appall'd I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear i 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur d, in the unequal strife, 
The hapless poet flounders on thro' life., 
Tiii fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd, 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, )• 

Dead, even resentment, for his injur'd page, 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage ! 

m2 



1 



148 

So, by some hedge, the gen'rolis steed deceas'd, 
For half- starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast ; 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, 
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

dulness! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 

Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 

sober seiiish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder ' some folks' do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mailard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that ' fools are fortune's care.* 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain ; 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heav'n. or vaulted hell. 

1 dread thee, fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eciips'd at noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! 
Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro* a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path; 
Give energy to life ; and sooth his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 



149 

LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF 
GLENCAIRN. 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream: 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain,. 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years ;: 
His locks were bleached white wi' time! 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ! 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

" The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
" Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

" The honours of the aged year ! 
" A few short months, and giad and gay, 

" Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
" But nocht in all revolving time 

"Can gladness bring again to me.. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

" That long has stood the wind and rain ; 
" But now has come a cruel blast, 

(l And my last hald of earth is gane : 
" Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

" Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
" But I maun lie before the storm, 

" And ithers plant them in my room. 

I've seen sae mony changefu' years* 

" On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
" I wander in the ways of men, 

2 Alike unknowing and unknown ; . 
N 3 



150 

"Unheard, unpiried, unreliev'd, 

" I bear alane my lade o' care, 
" For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

"Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

tl And last (the sun of a' my griefs !) 

" My noble master lies in clay ; 
" The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

" His country's pride, his country's stay: 
" In weary being now I pine, 

" For a* the life of life is dead, 
" And hope has left my aged ken, 

" On forward wing for ever fled. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

" The voice of woe and wild despair ! 
" Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

" Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
" And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

" That fillest an untimely tomb, 
" Accept this tribute from the bard 

" Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. 

" In poverty's low barren vale, 

" Thick mist, obscure, involv'd me round ; 
" Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

*' Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
u Thou found'st me, like the morning sun 

" That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
u The friendless bard and rustic song, 

" Became alike thy fostering care. 

" O ! why has worth so short a date ? 

" While villains ripen grey with time ! 
" Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

" Fall in bold manhood's-hardy prime ! 
" Why did I live to see that day ? 

" A day to me so full of woe ! 
" O ! had I met the mortal shaft 

" Which laid my benefactor low ! 

H The bridegroom may forget the bride 
" Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 

f The monarch may forget the crown 
" That on his head an hour has been ; 



151 

11 The mother may forget the child 

" That smiles sae sweetly on her knee j 

" But I'll remember thee, Giencairn, 
" And a' that thou hast done for me !'* 



TAM O' SHANTER, 

A TALE. 

Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. 

Gawin JJjuglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' gettin fou and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scotch miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tain o' Shantcr, 
As he frae Ayr, ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonnie lasses.) 

O Tarn ! had'st thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was nae sober; 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The Smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesy'd, that late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doonj 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By Allovcay's auld haunted kirk. 



I5 C I 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greets 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthen" d sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night,. 
Tarn had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; 
And at his elbow, souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter ; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious :. 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
Tne landlord's- laugh was ready chorus: 
The storm without might rair and rustle,. 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown 'd himself amang the nappy; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure :• 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r — its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-fails in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever ; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place ; . 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tarn maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he taks the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 






153 

The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scotch sonnet ; 
Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-AUo'way was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drucken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mimgo's mither hang'd hersel. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods % 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquabae we'll face the devil ! 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na' deils a boddle, 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And, vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France y 



154 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. 

Put life and mettle in their heels : 

A winnock-bunker in the east, 

There sat auld Nick, in shape o* beast ; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 

To gie them music was his charge : 

He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirL — 

Coffins stood round like open presses, 

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 

And by some devilish cantrip slight, 

Each in its cauld hand held a light,— 

By which heroic Tarn was able 

To note upon the haly table, 

A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ! 

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 

A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 

Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 

Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted ; 

Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; 

A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 

A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 

Whom his ain son o* life bereft, 

The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 

Wi' mair, o' horrible and awfu', 

Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu' ! 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, trtey cross'd, they cleekit,. 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tarn, O Tarn ! had they been queans. 
A' plump and strapping, in their teens ; 
Their sacks, instead o J creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen ! 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies! 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies. I 



155 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an* flinging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie, 
There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
That night inlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ! 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear), 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley ham, 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
In longitude tho* sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie.— 
Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scotch ('twas a' her riches), 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour ; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was and Strang) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wi* might and main : 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tarn tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark !'■* 
And in an instant all was dark ; 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When, " Catch the thief!'' resounds aloud; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow. 



156 

Ah, Turn / ah, Turn ! thou'll get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane* of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, tak heed : 
Whene'er to drink you are i^ciin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the jovs o'er dear, 
Remember Tarn o Shunters mare. 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE 
LIMP BY ME, 

WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 

Inhuman man • curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye : 
May never pity sooth thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 

The bitter little that of life remains : 

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains, 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

* It is a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no 
power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next 
running stream. — It may he proper likewise to mention to the be- 
nighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may 
be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. 



157 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest,. 

No more of rest, but now thy dying bed! 

The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheering dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy haple 

fate. 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF 
THOxMSON, 

On crowning his Bust at Ednam, Roxburghshire,- 
with Bays. 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes Eolian strains between : 

While Summer with a matron grace 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade : 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head, 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed : 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : 

So long, sweet Poet of the year, 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won ; 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son* 
t O 



158 
EPITAPHS, &c. 

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER, 

Here souter **** in death does sleep ; 

To h-11, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll haud it weel thegither. 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : 

O death, it's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin b-tch, 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



ON WEE JOHNNIE. 

Hie jacet wee Johnnie. 

Whoe'eji thou art, O reader, know, 
That death has murder'd Johnnie ! 

An' here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 



FOR R. A. Esq. 
Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



FOR G. H. Esq. 
The poor man weeps — here G n sleeps, 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 
But with suck as he, where'er he be, 

May I be sav'd or damn'd ! 



FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 
O "Ve, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 
.Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend I 



159 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. 

The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ; 

The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

" For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side ?*'* 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn, and wise to know, 
And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer jlame, 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name i 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-controul 9 

Is wisdom's root, 

• Goldsmith. 

O 2 



160 

ON THE LATE 

CAPT. GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, 

Collecting the Antiquities of that Kingdom, 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
l ; rae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's ; 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it ; 
A duel's amang you taking notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent It. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 
O* stature short, but genius blight, 

That's he, mark weel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,* 
Or kirk deserted by its riggin, 
It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
WT deils, they say, L — d save's ! colleague 

At some black art 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha* or chamer, 
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, 
And you deep read in hell's black grammar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hummer, 

Ye midnight b es« 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat the spurtle blade, 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And ta'en the — Antiquarian tradc y 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick nackets : 
Kusty aim caps and jinglin jackets,f 

* Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. 
•}• Vide liis Treaties on Ancient Armour and Weapons. 



161 

Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, 
A towmont guid ; 

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 
Before the Flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubal-cain's fire-shool and fender; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, 
The cut of Adam's philibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully, 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or lang-kail gullie. — 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellows wi T him y 
And port,' O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'll see him ! 

Now, by the povv'rs o r verse and prose I 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose ! — 
Whue'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee t 



1Q 

MISS CRUIKSHANKS, 

A VERY YOUNG LADY, 

Written on the Blank Leaf of a Book presented to her. 
by the Author. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay. 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 
3 



162 

Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights ! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 
May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem > 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, 
Propping dews, and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings ; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 

ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, 

THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, Esq. 

Brother to a Young Lady, a particular Friend of the 
Author's. 
Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
I>eath tears the brother of her love 
From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 

The morning ro^e may blow ; 
But cold successive noontide blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 



That nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was form'd, 
And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone, 
Can heal the wound he gave ; 

Can point the brimful grief-worn eye* 
To scenes beyond the grave. 






163 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 
And fear no withering blast ; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be at last. 



THE 

HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR 
WATER* 

TO TUK 

NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

My Lord, I know, your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden' d thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble Slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly -jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet B**** came by, 
That, to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shor'd me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 
In twisting strength I rin ; 

• Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful^ 
but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees- and shrubs. 



164 

There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As nature gave them me, 
I am, attho* I say't mysel, 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi* tow'ring trees, 

And bonnie spreading bushes ; 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks, 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir: 
The blackbird strong, the lint white clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In ail her locks of yellow ; 

This too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flow'rs; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat, 

From prone descending showers. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty idle cart : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms, 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 
Some musing bard may stray, 

And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,, 
And misty mountain, grey ; 



J6J 

Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 
Mild-chequering thro' the trees, 

Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-pending in the pool, 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour-'d native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

The social-flowing glasses, 
The grace be — " A thole's honest men, 

" And Athole's bonnie lasses V 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL 
IN LOCH-TURIT. 

A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OUGHTERTYRE. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 
TeU me, fellow-creatures, why, 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or beneath the shelt'ring rock, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 



166 

Man, your proud usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below : 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below, 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong necessity compels. 
But man, to whom aione is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wand'ring swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from human haunts and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's superior might, 
Dare invade your native right, 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, 

STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy Hoods ; 

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 

Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 

As deep recoiling surges loam below, 

Prone down the rock the whitening sheets decends, 

And viewless echo's ear, astonish'd, rends.. 



167 

Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs, 
The hoary cavern, wide surrounding, low'rs. 
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 
And still below the horrid cauldron boils — 



BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, 

BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF 
FAMILY DISTRESS. 

Sweet Flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 

And ward o' mony a prayer, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair! 

.November hirples o'er the lea, 

Chill, on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the shelf ring tree, 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 

And wings the blast to blaw, 
Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 

The bitter frost and snaw ! 

May He, the friend of woe and want, 

Who heals life's various stounds, 
Protect and guard the mother plant, 

And heal her cruel wounds ! 

But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 

Fair on the summer morn : 
Now feebly bends she in the blast, 

Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 

Unscath'd by ruffian liand ! 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our land ! 



168 
THE WHISTLE. 

A BALLAD. 

As the authentic prose history of the Whistle is curious, I shall here 
give it. — In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland 
with our James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of 
gigantic stature and great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bac- 
chus. He had a little ehony Wliistle, which, at the commencement of 
the orgies, he laid on the table, and whoever was last able to blow it, eve- 
ry body else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off 
the Whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of 
his victories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stock- 
holm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several cf the petty courts in Germany ; 
and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his 
prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority. — After many over- 
throws on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Ro- 
bert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present worthy baronet of 
that name ; who, after three days and three nights hard contest, left the 
Scandinavian under the table, 

And blctv on l.lw Whistle Iris requiem shrill. 

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost the 
Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of 
Sir Walter's. — On Friday, the 1 6th of October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, 
the Whistle was once more contended for, as related in the ballad, by 
the present Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton • Robert Riddel, Esq. of 
Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who 
won the Whistle, and in whose family it had continued ; and Alexander 
Fenjusson, Esq. of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir 
Robert; which last gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the 

field. 



I Sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 

I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 

Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 

And long with this Wliistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda,* still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
",This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er, 
" And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er see me more !' : 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd. what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

* See Oman's Carrit-thura. 



169 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd ; 
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw ; 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
An trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the mam 

" By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
" I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,* 
41 And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or his friend,. 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And knee-deep in claret, he'd die, or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 
But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame, 
Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy ; 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 

And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet. 

* See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides. 

t p 



170 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestors did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; 
A high-ruling Eider to wallow in wine! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend? 
Though fate said — a hero should perish in light ; 
So uprose bright Phoebus— and down fell the knight. 

Next uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
" Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink • 
" But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
" Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 

" Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with 
" Bruce, 
" Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
" So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
" The fieid thou hast won, by yon bright god of day l y 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET.* 
ATJLD NIBOR, 

I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, 
For your auld-farrent, frien'ly letter, 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye Hatter, 

Ye speak sae fair ; 
For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter, 

Some less maun sair- 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, 

* This is prefixed to the poems of David SHlar, published *t Kil- 
marnock, 1*89. 



171 

Tae cheer you thro' the weary widdle 
O' war'ly cares, 

Till bairns' bairns kindly cud 

Your auld gray hair**. 

But, Davie, lad, I'm redye're glaikit ; 
I'm tauld the muse ye hae negleckit ; 
An' gif it'ssae, ye sad belicket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you snd ne'er be faikit, 

Be hain't wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 

Rivin the words tae gar them clink ; 

Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi* drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymm' clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban, 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o* livin% 
Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin' : 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in, 

An' while ought's there. 
Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! it's aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fieP, at wark or leisure, 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand tae the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
The warl' may piay you monie a shavie ; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie 

Frae door tae door. 
P 2 



I?2 
SONG. 

Tune—" Bonnie Dundee. 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, 
The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a', 

Their carnage and dress, a stranger would guess, 
In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a' i 

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Maryland's divine, 

Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw ; 

There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, 
But Armour's* the jewel for me o' them a'. 



WRITTEN 

On the Blank Leaf of a Copy of the Poems, presented to 
an Old Sweetheart, then Married. 

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, 
Sweet early object of my youthful vows, 

Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, 
Friendship ! 'tis all cold duty now allows. — 

And when you read the simple artless rhymes, 
One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more, 

Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 

A CANTATA. 

EECITATIVO. 

When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, 
Or wavering like the Bauekie-bird f „ 

Bedim cauld Boreas' Mast ; 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch drest ; 

* This is one of our Bard's early productions. Miss Armour is 
now Mrs. Burns. 
f The oid Scotch name for the Bat. 



173 

Ae night at e'en a merry core 

0' randie, gangrel bodies, 
In Poosie-Nansie's heid the splore, 
To drink their orra daddies : 
Wi* quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang ; 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle rang. 

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi* mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
\YY usquebae an' blankets warm — 

She blinket on her sodger ; 
An' ay he gies the tozie drab 
The tither skelpin' kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab 
Just like an aumos dish.. 

Ilk smack still, did crack still,. 

Just like a cadger's whip, 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up — 

AIR. 
Tune — " Soldiers' Joy." 

I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars', 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench r 
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum* 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship I past where my leader broath'dhis last, 
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram; 
I served out my trade when the gi ne was play'd, 

And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum* 
Lai de dan die, &c 

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries* 
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me> 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum- 
Lai de dandle, &c. 

And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and leg^ 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bumy 

ie 3 



174 

I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my caliet, 
As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. 
Lai de daudle- &c 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter 

shocks,. 
Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, 
When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, 
X could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, 

A boon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rattons backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost bore ;■ 
A fairy fiddler f'rae the neuk. 

He skiri'd out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 

AIR. 
Tune — " Soldier Laddie." 
I once was a maid, tho f I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper young men ; 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing) Lai de lal, &c. 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,, 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

But the goc!ly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; 
He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the luily, 
Twos then I prov'd raise to my sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontcon to the life I was ready,, 
X asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Song, Lal de lal, &.q k 



175 

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, 
Till I met my old boy at a Cuningham fair ; 
Ilia rags regimental they flutter' d so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoie'd at my sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

And now I have Hv'd — I know not how long, 
And still I can join in a cup or a song ; 
But whilst with both hands 1 can hold the glass steady 
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, 
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlings 
For monie a pursie she had hooked, 
And had in mouy a well been ducked. 
Her dove had beca a Highland laddie, 
Bui weary fa* the waefu' woodie ! 
Wi* sighs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman. 

ALR. 
Tune — " an ye were dead guidman." 

A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lalland laws he held in scorn ; 
But he still was raithrV to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

CHORUS. 

Sing, hey m D oraw John Highlandman £ 
Sing, ho iuj bravo John Highlandman ! 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman* 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
An' gude claymore down by his side, 
The ladies hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lalland face he feared none, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c* 



l?6 

They banished him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
A down my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highiandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every one, 
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn, 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfort but a hearty cann, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

RECITAT1VO. 

A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, 

Her strappan limb and gau^y middle 

He reach'd nae higher, 
Had hoi'd his heartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set off wi' Allegretto glee 

His giga solo. 

AIR. 
Tune — " Whistle o'er Uie lave oV.'" 

Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 
And go' wi' me and be my dear, 
And then your every care and fear 
May whistle owce the lave u't. 

CHORUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade. 
And a' the tunes that e'er I played,. 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle on: re the lave o'U 



177 

At kirns ami weddings we'se be there, 
And ! sae nicely's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about tell Daddie Care 
Sings whistle owre the hive o't. 

I am, &c» 

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, 

And sun ourseils about the dyke, 

And at our leisure, when ye like, 

We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

But bless me wi* your heav'n o' charms, 
And while I kittle hair on thairms, 
Hunger, cauld, and a sic harms* 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird, 

As weel as poor Gut-scraper ; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a roosty rapier — 
He swoor by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver, 
Unless he wad from that time forth 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly ee, poor twecdle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended, 
And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face. 

And sae the quarrel ended. 
But tho' his little heart did giieve 

When round the tinker prest her, 
He feign'd to snirtle hi his sleeve, 

When thus the Caird address'd her ; 

AIR, 

Tune—" Clout the ccutdron." 

My bonny lass, I work in brass, 

A tinker is my station ; 

I've traveli'd round all Christian ground 

In this my occupation : 
I've taen the gold, I've been enroll'd 

In many a nobie squadron i 



178 

But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 
To go and clout the caudron. 

I've taen the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and caprin, 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron. 
And by that stowp, my faith and houp, 

An' by that dear Keilbagie *, 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie 

An' by that stowp, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

The caird prevaiPd — the unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi* love o'ercome sae sair, 

An' partly she was drunk. 
Sir Vioiino, with an air 

That show'd a man of spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair, 

An* made the bottle clunk 

To their health that nigh . 

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft, 

That play'd a dame a shavie, 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 

Behind the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o y Homer'sf craft, 

Tho' limping wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, 

And shord them Dainty Davie 

O boot that night. 

He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish but — to be glad, 

Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
He hated nought but— to be sad, 
And thus the Muse suggested 

His sang that night. 
* A peculiar sort of whisky so called ; a great favourite with Posie- 
Nansie's clubs. 

f Iloir.er is allowed to be the oldest ballad-singer on record. 



179 



Tune—" For a that, an a that'* 

I am a bard of no regard, 

Wi' gentle folks, an* a' that ; 
But Homer-like, the glowran byke, 

Frae town to town I draw that. 

CHORUS. 

For a that, an a' that, 

An' twice as muckle's a that ; 

I've lost but arte, I've txva behin', 
I've wife enoughybr a' that* 

I never drank the Muses* stank, 

Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; 
But there it streams, and richly reams, 

My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 

Their humble slave, an' a' that ; 
But lordly will, I hold it still 

A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a that, &c. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 

Wi' mutual love an' a' that ; 
But for how lac.g the flee may stang, 

Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. t 

Their tricks and craft have put rne daft, 
They've ta'en me in, an' a' that : 
But clear your decks, and here's the sex! 
I like the jads for a' that. 

For a' that, an a* that, 

An tzvice as muckle's a' that ; 

My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 
They're welcome tilVtfor a' that, 

RECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa'i 
Shook with a thunder of applause, 
Re-echo'd from each mouth ; 



180 

They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds, 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, 
To quench their lowan drouth. 

Then owre again, the jovial thrang, 

The poet did request, 
To loose his pack an' wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best ; 

He rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 

AIR. 

Tune — *.* Jolly Mortals JUl your Glasses." 
See ! the smoking bowl before us, 

Mark, our jovial ragged ring ! 
Round and round take up the chorus, 
And in raptures let us sing. 
CHORUS. 

A Jig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast I 
Courts for cowards were erected, 
Churches built to please the priest. 
What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's car--? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 
'Lis no matter how or where J 
A fig, &c. 

With the ready trick and fable, 

Round we wander all the day ; 
And at night, in barn or stable, 

Hug our doxies on the hay. 
A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriage 

Through the country lighter ro. 
Does the sober bed of marriage 

Witness brighter scenes of love ? 
A fig, &c. 

Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 
Let them cant about decorum 

Who have characters to lose. 
A %, &c 



181 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets 1 
Here's to all the wandering train ! 

Here's our ragged brats and callets ! 
One and all cry out, Amen ! 

A jig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts Jot coxvards ivere erected, 

Churches built to please the priest. 



THE KIRK'S ALARM* : 

A SATIRE. 

Orthodox, orthodox, wha believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience ; 

There's a heretic blast has been blawn in the wast, 
That what is no sense must be nonsense. 

Dr Mac f, Dr Mac, you should stretch on a rack, 

To strike evil doers \vi' terror ; 
To join faith and sense upon ony pretence, 

Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad I declare, 

To meddle \vi' mischief a-brewing ; 
Provost John is .still deaf to the church's relief, 

And orator Bob % is its ruin. 

D'rymplc mild §, D'rymple mild, tho' your heart's 
like a child, 

And your life like the new driven snaw, 
Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye, 

For preaching that three's ane an' twa. 

Rumble John |{, Rumble John, mount the steps wi* 
a groan, 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adle, 

And roar every note of the daum'd. 

* Tliis poem was written a short time after the publication of Dr. 
M'GUTs Essay. 

| Dr. M« 11. I R 1 A n. 

§ Dr. D e. || Mr. R 11. 

Q f 



184 

Simper James *, Simper 'James, leave the fair Killie 
dames, 

There's a holier chace in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'll soon lead, 

For puppies like you there's but few. 
Signet Sawney f, Signet Sawney, are ye herding the 
penny, 

Unconscious what evils await ; 
Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, alarm ever)- soul, 

For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld J, Daddy Auld, there's a tod in the fauld, 

A tod meikle waur than the Clerk ; 
Tho' ye can do little skaith, ye ii be in at the death, 

And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. 

Davie Bluster §, Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do 
muster, 

The corps is no nice of recruits ; 
Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast, 

li the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamy Goose |j, Janvy Goose, ye ha'e made but toom 

roose, 
In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; 
But the Doctor's your mark, for the L — d's haly ark, 
He has cooper'd and cawd a wrang pin in't. 

Poet Willie «j,*Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley, 

Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit ; 
O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride, 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t. 

AndroGoukff, AndroGouk, ye may slander the bcok, 
And the book not the waur let me tell ye ; 

re rich, and look big, but lay bye hat and wig, 
And ye'll ha'e a calf's head o' sma' value. 

Steennie $$, Barr Steennie, what mean ye! what 
mean ye ! 
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 
Ye may ha'e some pretence, to haivins and sense, 
Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

* jVfr. M« v. f Mr. M v. i Mr. A d. 

§ Mr. G .'O e. " || Mr. Y -. C k. 

k Mr. P s, N n. ft Dr. A. M U. 

|| Mr. S- — n Y , J3— r. 



1S3 

Irvine side *, Irvine side, wi' your turkey-cock pride, 

Of manhood but soia' is your share : 
Ye've the figure, 'tis true, even your faes will allow, 
And your friends they dare grant you hae mair. 

Muirland Jack-}-, Muirland Jock, when the L — d 
makes a rack. 

To crush common sense for her sins, 
If ill manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit 

To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Holy Will J, Holy Will, there was wit i' your skull, 
When ye pilfer Yi the alms o' the poor ; 

The timmer is scant, when ye're ta'en for a saunt, 
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual guns, 

Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough, 

And your sculls are storehouses o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping turns, 

Why desert ye your auld native shire ; 
Your muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie, 

She cou'd ca' us nae waur than we are. 



THE TWA HERDS §. 

O a* ye pious godly flocks, 
Well fed on pastures orthodox, 
W T ha now will keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykes, 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, 

About the dykes ? 

The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty simmers past, 

O ! dool to tell, 
Ha'e had a bitter black out-cast 

Atween themsel. 



^ * Mr. S h, G n. f Mr. S d. 

f An E rin M e- 

§ This piece was among the first of our Author's productions which 
he submitted to the public, and was occasioned by a dispute between 
two Clergymen, near Kilmarnock. • 

Q 2 



181 

O, M y, man, and wordy T?, 11. 

How could j'ou raise so vile a bustle ? 
Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle, 

And think it fine ! 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, 

Sin' I ha'e mini 

O, Sirs ! whae'er wad ha'e expeckit, 

Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit, 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' M y's flock could rank, 

Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'd soor Arminian stank, 

He let them taste, 
Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank, 

O' sic a feast J 

The thummart, wiT-cat, brock and tod, 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smelt their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skin. 

What herd like R 11 tell'd his tale ? 

His voice was heard thro' muir and dale, 
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height, 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 

Or nobly fling the gospel club, 

And new-light herds could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin, 
Could shake them o'er the burning dub ; 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't, 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
An' names, like villain, hypocrite, 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While new-light herds wi' laughin' spite, 

Say neither's liein' J 



185 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

There's D n deep, and P s shaul, 

But chiefly thou, apostle A — d, 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, 

Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset, 
There's scarce a new herd that we get, 
But comes trae 'mang that cursed set, 

I winna name, 
I hope frae heav'n to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

D e has been lang our fae, 

M' 11 has wraught us meikle wae, 

And that eurs'd rascal ea'd M* e, 

And baith the S — s, 
That aft ha'e made us black and blae, 

Wi' veogefu' paws. 

Auld W w lang has hatch'd mischief 

We thought ay death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef; 

I meikle dread him. 

And mony a ane that I could tell, 
Wlia fain would openly rebel, 
Forby turn-coats aniang oursel r 

There's S h for ane y 

I doubt he's but a grey nick quill, 

And that ye'll fm\ 

O ! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells,. 

Come join your counsel and your skills, 

To cow e the lairds-, 
And get the brutes the power themse.ls, 

To choose their herds,. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody dance, 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish' d o'er the sea to France : 

Let him bark there*. 

il 3 



186 

Then Shaw's and DYymple's eloquence, 

M' ii's close nervous excellence, 

M'Q. e's pathetic manly sense, 

And gude M' h, 

Wi' S — th, wha thro' the heart can glance, 

May a' pack aff. 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER, 

Thou, wha in the heavens do dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best tliysel > , 
Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for any gude or ill 

They've done afore thee J 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night, 
That I am here afore thy sight, 

For gifts and grace, 
A burnin' and a shin in' light, 

To a' tills place. 

What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get sic exaltation, 
I wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years Tore my creation, 

Thro' Adam*s cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hac plunged me in hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin' lake, 
Whar damn d devils roar and yell, 

Chain' d to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample ; 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 

I'm here a pilfar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock> 
A guide, a buckler, an example.. 

To a' thy flock. 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash/d wi' fleshly lust ; 



187 

And sometimes too, wi' warldly trust, 
Vile self gets in j 

But thou remembers we are dust, 
Defied in sin. 

O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg* 

Thy pardon I sincerely heg, 

O ! may't ne'er be a livin plague 

To my dishonour. 
And I'll ne'er lift a lawless 1-g 

Again upon her* 

Besides, I farther maun allow, 

Wi' Lizies lass, three times i trow : 

But L — d, that Friday I was fou, 

When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hue steer'd her. 

Maybe thou lets this jleshlj thorn, 

Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 

Lest he owre high and proud shou'd turn, 

''Cause he's sae gifted $ . 
If sae, thy ban* maun e'en be born, 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d bless thy chosen in this place, 

For here thou hast a chosen race ; 

But G — d confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name,. 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, 

And public shame. 

L — d mind G n H— ■ < — n's deserts, 

He drinks, and swears, and plays at carts, 
Yet has sae mony takin arts, 

Wi' grit and sma', 
Frae G— d's ain priests, the people's hearts, 

He steals awa. 

An* whan we chasten'dhim therefore* 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail and potatoes, 

L — d hear my earnest cry and pray'r, 
Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr ; 



J 88 

Thy strong right hand, L — d niak it bare 
Upo' their heads, 

L — d weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 

O L — d my G — d, that glib-tongu'd A — n, 
My very heart and saul are quakin, 
To think how we stood sweadn, shakin, 

And p-d wi' dread, 
While he wi' hingin lips and snakin, 

Held up his head. 

L — d in the day of vengeance try him, 
L — d visit them wha did employ him, 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em 

Nor hear their prayer ; 
But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, 

And dinna spare. 

But, L — d remember me and mine 
Wi' aiercies teinp'ral and cyvine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excel i"d by nane > 
And a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen. 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 

Here Holy Willie's fair worn clay 

Taks up his last abode ; 
His saul has taen some other way, 

I tear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun, 

Poor silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun* 

Observe wha's standing wi' him. 

Your brunstane devilship, I see, 

Has got him there before ye, 
But baud your nine-tail cat a wee, 

Till ance you've heard my story.. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice alas ! has gi'en him o'er,. 

And mercy's day is gaen. 



But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit ; 

A coof like him wad stain your name, 
If it were kent ye did it. 



THE INVENTORY, 

IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR 
OF THE TAXES. 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, 
To which I'm clear to g?e my aith. 

Imjyrimis then, for carriage cattle, 
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle. 
My Lan* afore s * a gude auld has been, 
An' wight an' wiifu' a' his days been. 
My Lan y ahiyfs f a weel gaun fillie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie J, 
An' your auld burro' mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance, whan in my wooing pride, 
J like a blockhead boost to ride, 
The tvilfu* creature sae I pat to, 
( L — d pardon a? my sins an* that too ! ) 
J play* a my fillie sic a shame, 
She's a' bedevil 'd tvi' the spavie. 
My Fur ahin's § a wordy beast, 
As e'er in tug or tow was trae'd. — 
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 
A d — n'd red wud Kilnurnie blastie i 
Forbye a Coivt o' Cowt's the wale, 
As ever ran afore a tail. 
If he be spar'd to be a beast, 
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least— 
Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; 

* The fore-horse on the left-hand in the plough. 

f The hindmost on the left-hand in the plough, 

j Kilmarnock. 

§ The hindmost horse on the right-hand in the plough. 



190 

mair for token, 
Ac leg an' baith the trams are broken; 
I made a poker o' the spin'le, 
An' my auld mother brunt the trin'Ie. — 
For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run de'ils for rantin' an' for noise ; 
A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other. 
Wee Davock bauds the nowt in fother. 
I rale them as I ought, discreetly, 
An' aft en labour them completely ; 
An* ay on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the questions targe them tightly ; 
Till, faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 
As fast as ony in the dvralling. — 
I've nane in female servan' station, 
(L — d keep me ay.frae a' temptation !) 
I ha'e nae wife — and that my bliss is, 
An' ye have laid nae tax on misses ; 
An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils dare nae touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. 
My sonsie smirking dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her face, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace ; 
But her, my bonnie s-weet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already, 
An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the L—d ! ye'se get them a' thegither. 

And now remember, Mr. A-k-n, 
Nae kind of licence out I'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth t I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse norhizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt and dub for lite Til paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot 1*11 shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers Glide be thankit. — 
The Kirk an you may tak you that 
It puts but little in your pat : 
Sae dinna put me in your buhe, 
Nor for my ten white shillings hike* 



191 

This list wi* my ain han' I wrote it, 
Day an 1 date as under notit, 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscript/ huic, Robert Burns. 

Mossgiel, February 22, 17 86. 



THE HENPECK'D HUSBAND 

Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife, 
Who has no will but by her high permission ; 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; 
Who dreads a cur tin lecture worse than hell. 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart ; 
I d charm her with the magic of a switch, 
I'd miss her maids, and kick the pet verse b — h. 



ADDRESS TO AN ILLEGITIMATE 
CHILD. 

Tiiou's welcome wean, mishanter fa' me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me, 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonny Betty, 
I fatherly will kiss an' (Jaut thee, 
As dear an' near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as gude will 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' h--ll. 

What tho* they ca' me fornicator, 
An' tease my name in kintry clatter ; 
The mair they tauk I'm kept the better, 

E'en let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 



192 

Sweet fruit o' moiiy a merry dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to the warl' asklent, 

Which fools may scoff at ; 
In my last plack thy part's be in't, — 

v The better ha'f o't. 

An' if thou be what I wad ha'e thee, 
An' tak' the counsel I sail gi'e thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee, 

If thou be spar'd; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, 

An' think't weel war'd. 

Giule grant, that thou may ay inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failing, 
'Twill please me inair to hear an" see't, 

Than stocket mailins. 



EPIGRAM. 

[Bru\-s, accompanied l>y a friend, having gone to Inveraryat n 

when some company were there on a vL»H to his Urate the Duke of 
Argyll, finding himself and Lis companion entirely neglected by 
the [un-keeper, whose whole attention seemed to Le oecunk-d with 
the visitors i<! his Grace, expressed his disap] 
will) which they were treated i;i the folio wi tig lin 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless lie come to wait upon 

The Lord their God, liis Grace. 

There's naething here but Highland pride, 

And Highland scab and hunger ; 
li Providence has sent me h<_rc, 

Twas surely in an anger. 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 17S& 

For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — "or that they're born ! 
But, oh ! prodieio.is to reflect, 
A Toxamont, Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 



193 

O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events ha'e taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickie thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a head, 
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead ; 
The toolzie's teugh 'tween Pit an' Fox, 
An' our gudewife's wee birdy cocks ; 
The tane is game, a bluidy devil, 
But to the hen-birds, unco civil ; 
The tither's dour, has nae sic breedin', 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden ! 

Ye ministers come mount the pupit, 
Aiv cry till ye be haerse an' rupit ; 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en mony a plack, an' mony a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck ! 

Ye bonnie lasses, dight your een, 
For some o' you ha'e tint a frien' ; 
In Eighty -eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What 3'e'li ne'er ha'e to gi'e again. 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep, 
How dewff an' dowie now they creep ; 
Nay," even the yirth itsel' does cry, 
For Embro' wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, 1 pray tak' care, 
Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuff'd, muzzl'd, hap-shackl'd Regent, 
But, like himsel' a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae warn* than he did, honest man ! 
As muckle better as you can. 

January 1, 1789. 

t R 



} 



194 
VERSES 

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON. 

We cam nae here to view your warks 

In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only, lest we gang to hell, 

It may be nae surprise : 
But whan we tirl'd at your door, 

Your porter dought na hear us ; 
Sae may, shoird we to hell's yetts come, 

Your billy Satan sair us ! 



LINES. 

At a meeting of the Dumfries-shire Volunteers, held to 
commemorate the anniversary of Rodney s Victory, 
April 12th, }7t2. Burns ivas called uponfr a Song, 
instead of which he delivered the following Lines .-— 

Instead of a song, boys, Til give you a toast, 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we 

lost ;— 
That we lost, did I say, nay, by heav'n that we found, 
For their fame it shall last while the worid goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the Kirg, 
Who'er wou'd betray him, on high may he swing ; 
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
A* built on the base of the great .Revolution ; 
And longer with Politics, not to be cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd. and be Tyranny damn'd ; 
And who would to liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial. 



LINES 

ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER. 

Tins wot ye all whom it concerns, 
1 Rhymer Rob as Barns, 

October twenty -third, 



195 

A ne'er to be forgotten day, 
Sae far I sprachled * up the brae, 
I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 

I've been at drucken writers' f feasts, 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 

Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ; 
I've evenjoin'd the honour'd jorum, 
When mighty Squire-ships of the quorum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken 

But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin, 
A Lord — a Peer — a a Earl's son, 

Up higher yet my bonnet ; 
And sic a Lord — lang Scotch elis twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a* 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But oh for Hogarth's magic pow'r 1 
To show Sir Bardy's willyart glowr J, 

And how he star'd and stammer'd, 
Whan goavan$, as if led wi' branks, || 
An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 



I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
An' at his Lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except good sense and social glee, 
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The feint a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 
Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern, 

One rank as well's another ; 

* Clambered. f Attorneys. { Frightened stare* 
§ Walking stupidly. [| A kind of bridle. 

R 2 



196 

Nae honest worthy man need care, 
To meet with noble youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



ON MY EAflLY DAYS. 

I Mind it weel in early date, 

When I was beardless, young and blate, 

An* first could thresh the barn ; 
Or haud a yokin o' the pleugh ; 
An' tho' forfoughten sair eneugh, 

Yet unco proud to learn: 
When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon'd was, 
An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing, and clearing 
The tither stocked raw, 
Wi' claivers, an' haivers, 
Wearing the day awa. 

E'en then, a wish. I mind its pow'r, 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast, 
That I for poor aula Scotland's sake 
Some usefu* plan or book could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd the weeder-clips aside, 
An' spar'd the symbol dear : 
No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
'Till on that har'st I said before, 
My partner in the merry core, 

She rous'd the forming strain : 



197 

I see her yet, the sonsie queen, 

That lighted up her jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pauky e'en 
That gart my heart-strings tingle 
I fired, inspired, 

At every, kindling keek, 
But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared ay to sptak 



THE FAREWELL. 

The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer? 

Or what does he regard his single woes ? 

But when, alas ! he multiplies himself, 

To dearer selves, to the lov'd tender fair, 

To those whose bless, whose beings hang upon him, 

To helpless children ! then, O then ! he feels 

The point of misery fest'ring in his heart, 

And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward. 

Such, such am I ! undone ! 

Thomson's Edward and Eleanora, 

Farewell old Scotia's bleak domains, 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell my Bess !. tho' thou'rt bereft 

Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left, 
My part in him thou'it share, 
Adieu too, to you too, 

My Smith*, my bosom frien' ; 
When kindly you mind me, 
O then befriend my Jean ! 

What bursting anguish tears my heart ! 
From thee my Jeany must I part ! 

Thou weeping answ'rest no ! 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face, 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I for thy sake must go ! 

* James Smith, Merchant, Mauchline. 
tt 3 



198 

Thee Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm adieu ! 
I, with a much indebted tear, 
Shall still remember you ! 
All-hail then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore ! 
It rustles, and whittles 
I'll never see thee more ! 



SONGS. 



THE LEA-RIG. 

When o'er the hill the eastern star, 

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo ; 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field, 

Return sae dowf and weary O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birks 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My am kind dearie O. 

In mirkest g>en, at midnight hour, 

Fd rove and ne'er be eerie O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And I were ne'er sae wearie Q, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer my jo ; 
Oie me the hour o' gloamin grey, 

It roak's my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 



199 
MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o* mine. 
I never saw a fairer, 
I never loe'd a dearer, 
And neist my heart I'll wear her, 
For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 
The warld's wrack we share o't, 
The warstle and the care o't ; 
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



BONNIE LESLEY. 

Tune — " Collier's bonnie Lassie. 1 ' 

O saw ye bonnie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border ? 
She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 
To see her is to love her, 

And love but her for ever ; 
For Nature made l»er what she is, 

And never made anither. 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee : 
Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 
The Deil he could na scaith thee, 

Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
He'd look into thy bonnie face, 

And say, " I canna wrang thee." 



200 

The powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 
Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 



TO MARY. 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
Across th' Atlantic s roar ? 

sweet grows the lime and the orange, 
And the apple on the pine ; 

But a' the charms o' the Indies, 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true, 

And sae may the Heavens forget me, 
When I forget my vow. 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
And plight me your lily white hand ; 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 

In mutual affection to join, 
And curst be the cause that shall part us I 

The hour, and the moment o' time ! 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Tune, — " Katharine Ogie." 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie I 



201 

There simmer first unfaulds her robes, 
And there they langest tarry ; 

For there I took the last fareweel 
O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom' d the gay, green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ; 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But Oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance, 

That dwalt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust, 

That heart that loe'd me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core, 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

M}' Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



202 

That sacred hour can I forget, 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love 1 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene, 
The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray, 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west, 

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but th' impression deeper makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wean. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



MY MARY'S NO MORE. 

O'er the mist shrouded cliffs of the low mountain 
straying, 

Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave, 
What woes wring my heart, while intently surveying 

The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave ! 
Ye foam-crested billows allow me to waii, 

Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'd native shore, 
Where the flow'r which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's 

green vale, 
The pride of my bosom, my Mary's no more ! 

No more by the banks of the streamlet we'll wander, 
And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave ; 

No more shall my arms cling with fondness around her, 
For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her grave! 



203 

No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast- 
I haste with the storm to a far distant shore ; 

Where unknown, un lamented, ray ashes shall rest, 
And joy shall revisit my bosom no more ! 



THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

'Twas even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang, 
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang, 

a 11 nature list'ning seem'd the while, 
Except where green-wood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray'd, 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her hair like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd passing by, 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flow'ry May, 

And sweet is night m Autumn mild ; 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wand 'ring in the lonely wild : 
But woman, nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile ; 
Even there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O, had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter' d in the lowest shade _ 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain ; 
Thro weary winter's wind and rain 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 



204 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine ; 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 
And ev'ry day have joys divine, 

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 



AULD HOB MORRIS. 

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, 
He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men ; 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay, 

the ami as artless as the lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

But oh ! she's an heiress, auld P^obin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard ; 
A wooer like me matronal hope to come speed, 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; 
I wander my lane like a nirht troubled ghaist, 
Anl I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 

had she but been of a lower degree, 

1 then might hac hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! 
O, how past describing had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can express ! 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

Dunca N Gray cam here to woo, 
Ha. ha, the ix:ooing ct, 

On blythe yule night when we were fu', 
Ha, ha, the ivooing o't. 



205 

Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skiegh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abiegh ; 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ; 

Ha, ha, fyc. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, fyc. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin r t 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; 

Ha, ha, §c. 

Time and chance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha 9 $$e. 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ha, ha, S)X. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me! 

Ha, ha, §c. 

How it comes let doctors tell, 

Ha, ha, fyc. 
Meg grew sick — as he grew heal. 

Ha, ha, &)C. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een they spak sic things ! 

Ha, ha, Sfc. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, fyc. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, fyc. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
Now they're crouse and canty baith. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o'f. 

SONG. 

Tune — " I had a horse'* 
O Poortith cauld and restless love, 
Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 

ts 



206 

Yet poorrith a' I could forglv-e, 
An' 'twere na' for my Jeanie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have, 
Lite's dearest bands untwining ? 

Or why sae sweet a flower as love, 
Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth when I think on, 
It's pride and a' the lave o't : 

Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't. 
why, Sfc. 

Her een, sae bonnie blue, betray 
How she repays my passion ; 

But prudence is her o'erword ay, 
She talks of rank and fashion. 
vJiy, eye. 

O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him ? 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am ? 
O ivhi/, $c. 

How blest the humble cottar's fate I 

He wooes his simple dearie ; 
The silly bogles, wealth and state, 

Can never mak them eerie ; 
O why should fate sic pleasure have. 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love, 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 



GALLA WATER. 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
That wander thro' the blooming heather ; 

But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws, 
Can match the lads o' Galla water. 

But there is ane. a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I loe him better ; 

And Til be his, and he'll be mine, 
The bonnie lad o' Gaiia water. 



207 

Altho' his daddie W8S bae laird, 

And tho' I hue na meikle tocher ; 
Yet fich in kindest, truest hue, 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 

That car'c contentment, peace, or pleasure 
The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 

that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 

LOUD GREGORY. 

O Mirk, mirk is this midnight* ho ar a 

And load the tempest's roar ; 
A waefV ivanderer seeks thy tow'r, 

Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 
An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' far leving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, 

By bonnie Invine side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love 

1 lang, lang had denied. 

How aft en didst thou pledge and vow, 

Thou wad for ay be mine ! 
And my fond heart, itseifsue true, 

It ne'er mistrusted thine ! 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 

wilt thou give me rest ! 
Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love, 

His wrongs to heaven and me ! 



MARY MORISON. 

Tune, ' Side ye yet.* 

O Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 

Those smiles and glances let me see, 
That make the miser's treasure poor ; 
& 2 



208 

How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 
A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 

Could I the rich reward secure, 
The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string, 

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha' r 
To thee my fancy took its wing, 

I sat, but neither heard or saw : 
Tho* this was fair, and that was braw, 

And yon the toast of a' the town, 
I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 

" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that lieart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thottght ungentle cannabe 

The thought o' Mary Morrison. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, haud away hame ; 

Come to my bosom my ain only dearie ; 

Tell me thou bring'st me my Wiliie the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e, 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, 

How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
Waken ye breezes, row gently ye billows, 

And waft my dear laddie ante mair to my arms. 

But oh, if he's faithless and minds na his Nannie, 
i low still between us thou wide-roaring main ; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 



209 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH 



WITH ALTERATIONS. 



Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me, Oh ! 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart, 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh ! 

The wan moon Is setting behind the white wave, 

And time is setting with me, Oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! 
^Iy true love, she cried, and sank down by his side. 

Never to rise again, Oh 1 



JESSIE. 

Tune, 4 Bonnie Dundee.' 

True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river. 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair ; 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 

EnthroivM in her een he delivers his law : 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger ! 

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a' 
'" S3' 



210 
SONG. 

Air—" The Mill, Mill 0." 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And niony a widow mourning, 
I left the lines and tented fields, 

Where lang I'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstain'd wi* plunder ; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

1 thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fai 

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, 

Where early life I ^ported ; 
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn, 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the liood 

That in my eeh was swelling. 

^Y aiter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
! happy, happy may he be, 

That's dearest to thy bosom : 
My purse is light, I've far to gang, 

And fain wad be thy lodger ; 
I've serv'd my king and country lang, 

Take pity on a sodger. 

$ae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever ; 
Q ' she. a sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it, 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't i 



211 

She gazM 

Syne pale iiwe ony Iiiy ; 
She sank within my arms, and cried, 

Art thou my am dear Willie ? 
By Him who made yon sun and sky — 

By whom true love's regarded, 
I am the man ; and thus may still 

True lovers be rewarded. 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, 

And rind thee still true hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 
Quo* she, my grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailin plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize. 

The sodger's wealth is honour ; 
The brave poor codger ne'er despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger ; 
Remember he's his country's stay 

In day and hour of danger. 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

Air, ' bonme lass, will you lie in a Br.rrack ? 

O Ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappin. the Miller was ruddy ; 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady : 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleer-e'ed knurl ; 
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving : 
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, 
A tine pacing horse wi' a clear chain'd bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 



212 

O wae on the siller, it is sac prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailen 1 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl ! 



SONG. 

Tune — " The last time I came o'er tlie Moor.* 

Farewell thou stream that winding flows 

Around Maria's dwelling ! 
Ah cruel mem'ry ! spare the throes 

Within my bosom swelling ; 
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And still in secret languish ; 
To feel a five in ev'ry vein, 

Yet dare not speak my anguish. 

The wretch of love, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my crime would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Betray the hopeless lover. 
I know my doom must be despair, 

Thou wilt, nor canst relieve me; 
But oh, Maria, hear one prayer, 

For pity's sake forgive me. 

The music of thy tongue I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 

'Till fears no more had sav'd me. 
The unwary sailor thus aghast, 

The wheeling torrent viewing ; 
'Mid circling horrors yields at last 

To overwhelming ruin. 



SONG. 

Tunc, — l Liggeram Cash.* 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er me : 



213 

Now nae longer sport and play, 
Mirth or sang can please me ; 

Lesley is sae fair and coy, 
Care and anguish seize me* 

Heavy, heavy, is the task, 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I dow nocht butglow'r, 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
If she winna ease the thraws, 

In my bosom swelling ; 
Underneath the grass-green sod, 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



SONG. 

Tune, ' Logan Water* 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne have o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o* May, 

Has made our hills and valleys gay : 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 

The bees hum round the breathing flowers 

Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, 

And evening's tears are tears of joy : 

My soul, deiightless, a' surveys, 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; 
Her faithfV mate will share her toil, 
Or wi* his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi* my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes* 



214 

O wae upon you, men o' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return 1 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy, 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may peace bring happy days, 
And Willie, hame to Logan braes ! 



BONNIE JEAN. 

There was a lass, and she was fair, 
At kirk and market to be seen, 

When a' the fairest maids were met, 
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark, 
And ay she sang sae merrilie : 

The blithest bird upon the bush 
Had neer a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 

And danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 

As in the bosom o' the stream, 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; 

So trembling, pure, was tender love, 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 

And now she works her mammie's wark. 
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

Yet wist na what her ail might be, 
Or what wad mak her weel again.. 



815 

But did na Jennie's heart loiip light, 

And did na joy blink in her e'e, 
As Robie tar,; J a tale o'-lovo, 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 

His cheek to hcv's he fondly prest, 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 

O Jcanie fair, I lo- e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ! 
Or wilt thou leave thy nmmmie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms vvi* me ? 

At barn or byre thou slmlt na drudge, 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn \vi' me. 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had nae will to say him na ; 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was ay between them twa. 



PHILLIS THE FAIR. 

Tune — " Rabin Adair.'* 

While larks with little wing, 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring, 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye, 
Feep'd o'er the mountains high ; 
Such thy morn ! did 1 cry, 

Phil lis the fair. 

In each bird's careless song, 

Glad, I did share ; 
While yon wild flowers among, 

Chance led me there : 
Sweet to the opening day, 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; 
Such thy bloom, did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 



216 

Down in a shady walk, 
Doves cooing were, 

I mark'd the cruel hawk 
Caught in a snare : 

So kind may fortune be, 

Such make his destiny ! 

He who would injure thee, 
Phillis the fair. 



SONG. 

To the same tune, 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
Where the winds howj to the waves' dashing roar 

There would I weep my woes, 

There seek my last repose, 

Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare, 
AH thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air ! 

To thy new lover hie, 

Laugh o'er thy perjury, 

Then in thy bosom try, 
What peace is there. 



SONG. 

Tune, — ' Allan Water. 

By Allan stream I chane'd to rove, 

While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ; 
The winds were whisp'ring thro' the grove, 

The yellow corn was waving ready : 
I listen'd to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthiV pleasures mony : 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang — 

O, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! 

O, happy be the woodbine bower, 
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; 

Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie I 



217 

Her head upon my throbbing breast, 

She, sinking, said, " I'm thine for ever V* 

While mony a kiss the seal imprest, 
The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae, 

The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
How cheery thro' her short'ning day, 

Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ? 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ! 



WHISTLE AND I'LL COME TO 
YOU MY LAD. 

O Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 

But warily tent, when ye come to court me, 
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let nae body see, 
And come as ye were na comin to me. 
And come, &c. 
O whistle , fyc. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that )^e car'd na a flee : 
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. 
Yet look, &c. 

O whistle, Sfc. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; 
But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
For fear, &c. 

whistle, &c. 

t T 



218 
SONG. 

Tune,— ' The mtickin o* Geordie*s byre* 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

chorus. 

Avon' lui' 'your belles and your beauties, 
They never ivi' her can compare .• 

Whoever has met vol my Phillis, 
Has met vol the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 

So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Chillis, 

For she is simplicity's child. 
Atva, $fc. 

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest ; 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast. 

Avoa, 8fc. 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 

Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, 
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
A iva, SfC. 

Her voice is the song of the morning, 

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, 

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 
Awa, fyc. 

But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 
The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 

While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish •without a decay. 

Awa, Sfc* 



219 
SONG. 

Air, — ' Cauld Kail.'' 

Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur : 
And do I hear my Jeanie own, 

That equal transports move her ? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never. 



DAINTY DAVIE. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ; 
And now comes in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, 

There Til spend the day wi* you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A waud'ring wi' my Davie. 
Me et me, fyc. 

When purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then thro' the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, §c. 

T 2 



220 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 

And that's my ain dear Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the 'warlock Jcnoive, 
Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie, 

There I'll spend the day %vi y you t 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 



SONG. 

Tune, — ' Oran-gaoil. 3 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; 

Thou go'st, thou darling of my heart t 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 

But fate has wili'd, and we must parU 
I'll often greet this surging swell, 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 
** E'en here I took the last farewell ; 

" There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.' 

Along the solitary shore, 

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar. 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 
Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 

Where now my Nancy's path may be ! 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 

O tell me, does she muse on me 1 



SONG. 

Tune*— 'Fee him Father.' 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. 
Aftenhast thou vow'd that death, Only should aa <ever. 
Now thou'st left thy lass for ay — I maun see thee neter, 
Jamie. 
I'll see thee never. 



221 



Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken ; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken, 
Thou canst love anither jo, While my heart is breaking ; 
Soon my weary een I'll close — Never mair to waken. 



Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' ? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 

chorus. 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

oAnd pou't the gowans fine ; 
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, 
Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, SfC. 

We twa hae paidl'd V the burn, 

Frae mornin sun till dine : 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd, 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, 8ce, 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 

And gie's a hand o' thine : 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, fyc. 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 
For auld, 8$c. 

T 3 



BANNOCK-BURN. 

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 

Now's the day and now's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee \ 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man ta' 
Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains I 
By your sons in servile chains ! 

We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be — shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow 4 
Forward 1 let us do, or die 1 



FAIR JENNY. 

Tune,— ' Saw ye my Father / 

Where are the joys I have met in the morning, 
That danc'd to the lark's early song, 

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 
At evening the wild woods among ? 

Ko more a winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair : 

$Jo more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
But sorrow and sad sighing care. 



223 

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, 

And grim, surly winter is near ? 
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses. 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : 

Come then, enamourM and fond of my anguish, 
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



SONG. 

Tune, — ' The Quaker's wife.* 

Thine am I, my faithful fair, 

Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 

Ev'ry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish : 

Tho despair had wrung its core, 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away those rosy lips, 

Rich with balmy treasure : 
Turn away thine eyes of love, 

Lest I die with pleasure. 

What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning : 
Love's the cloudless summer sun, 

Nature gay adorning. 

SONG. 

Tune, — • Jo Janet.* 

Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir ; 
Tho' I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I ani not your slave, sir* 



224 

" One of two must still obey, 

" Nancy, Nancy ; 
" Is it man or woman, say, 

" My spouse, Nancy ?" 

If 'tis still the lordly word, 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my sov'reign lord, 

And so, good b'ye allegiance I 

" Sad will I be, so bereft, 

" Nancy, Nancy ; 
" Yet I'll try to make a shift, 

" My spouse, Nancy,'' 

My poor heart then break it must, 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust, 

Think, think how you will bear it. 

" I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

M Nancy, Nancy ; 
" Strength to bear it will be given, 

" My spouse, Nancy.'' 

Well, sir, from the silent dead, 

Still I'll try to <iaunt you ; 
JEver round your midnight bed 

Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 

" I'll wed another, like my dear 

" Nancy, Nancy ; 
" Then all hell will fly for fear, 

" My spouse, Nancy.'' 

SONG. 

Tune,—' Tfie Sutor's Dochter.* 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee? 

By the treasure of my soul, 

That's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow that only thou 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shall ever be. my dearie. 



225 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 
Or if thou wilt nae be my ain, 
Say na thoul't refuse me, 
If it winna, canna be, 
Thou, for thine may choose me, 
Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
Lassie, let me quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



BANKS OF CREE. 

Here is the glen, and here the bower, 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village-bell has told the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid ? 

'Tis not Maria's whisp'ring call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale : 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
His little faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come ! and art thou true ! 

O welcome dear to love and me I 
And let us all our vows renew, 

Along the flowery banks of Cree. 



VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY, 

With a present of Thomson's Songs. 

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives, 
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, 

Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives, 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 

So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast, 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among ; 

But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song. 



226 - 

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 

As modest want the tale of woe reveals ; 

While conscious virtue all the strain endears, 
And heaven-born piety her sanction seals. 



ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 

Tune,-—' O'er the Hills," $C. 

How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my sailor lad ? 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe ? 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that's far away. 

CHORUS. 

On the seas and Jar auay, 
On stormy seas and Jar airay ; 
ISightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are ay with him thafsjar avcay. 

When in summer's noon I faint, 
As weary flocks around me pant, 
Haply in this scorching sun 
My sailor's thund'ring at his gun ; 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate do with me what you may, 
Spare but him that's far away ! 
On the seas, fyc. 

At the starless midnight hour, 
When winter rules with boundless power } 
As the storms the forest tear, 
And thunders rend the howling air, 
List'ning to the doubling roar, 
Surging on the rocky shore, 
Ali I can — I weep and pray, 
- For his weal that's far away. 
On the seas, §c. 



227 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 
And bid wild war his ravage end, 
Man with brother man to meet, 
And as a brother kindly greet : 
Then may heaven with prosp'rous- gales, 
Fill my sailor's welcome sails, 
To my arms their charge convey, 
My dear lad that's far away. 
On the seas, fyc. 



SONG. 

Tune, — • Ca' the Yowes to the Khowei! 
CHORUS. 

Ca' the yowes to the Icnoives, 
Ca them tvhare the heather grotves, 
Ca' them tvhare the bumie rotves, 
My bonnie dearie* 

Hark, the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang ; 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, tyc. 

We'll gae down by C louden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves, that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the, %c. 

Yonder Clouden's silent tow'rs, 
Where at moonshine midnight hours, 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca the, %c. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Kocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, %c. 



2£8 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca the, fyc. 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A' 

Tune,— « Onagh's Water-fall,* 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. 
Her smiling sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; 
What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lips to grow : 
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, 

When first her bonnie face I saw, 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a\ 

Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ancle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; 
Ilk feature — auld Nature 

Declar'd that she could do nae mair : 
Her's are the willing chains o' love, 

By conquering beauty's sovereign law; 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a\ 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy shew at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling, 

The am'rous thrush concludes her sang : 



2°9 

There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 
By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 

And hear my vows o' truth and love, 
And say thou lo'es me best of a* ? 



SAW YE MY PHELY ? 

(Quasi dicat Phillis.) 

Tune, — ' When she cam ben she bobbit.' 

O Saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, 
She winna come name to her Wiily. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee her Willy. 

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, andfause as thou's fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy. 



SONG. 

Tune, — ' Could Kail in Aberdeen." 

How long and dreary is the night, 

\ hen I am frae my dearie ; 
I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. 

For oh, herlanely nights arelangi 
And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 

And oh, her widow' d heart is sair 
That's absent jrae her dearie* 

When I think on the lightsome days 
1 spent wi thee, my dearie ; 

And now what seas between us roar, 
How can I be but eerie ? 
For oh j 8$c, 



230 

Plow slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 

The joyless day how dreary ! 
It was nae sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh> §c. 



SONG. 

Tune, — * Duncan Gray." 

Let not woman e'er complain, 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er complain, 

Fickle man is apt to rove ; 

Look abroad through Nature's range, 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster prove ? 

Mark the winds, and mark the skies : 
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 

Sun and moon but >et to rise, 

Round and round the seasons go. 

Why then ask of silly man, 
To oppose great Nature's plan ? 
We'll be constant while we can— 
You can be no more, you know, 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE 
TO HIS MISTRESS. 

Tune,—' DcU tak tie H r ars. ' 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature; 

Rosy morn now lifts his eye, 
Numb'ring ilka bud which Nature 

Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 

Now thro' the leafy woods, 

And by the reeking floods ; 
Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray ; 

The lintwhite in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower ; 

The lav'rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o'joy, 
While the sun anu tuou arise to bless the day. 



& 



231 

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning, 

Banishes iik darksome shade, 
Nature gladd'ning and adorning ; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 

When absent frae my fair, 

The murky shades o' care 
With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky 

But when, in beauty's light, 

She meets my ravish'd sight, 

When through my very heart 

Her beaming glories dart; 
'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. 



SONG. 

Tune, — * My Lodging is on the cold ground. 1 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves, 

The primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha* : 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours 

Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 
In shepherd's phrase will woo : 

The courtier tells a finer tale, 
But is his heart as true ? 

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck 

That spotless breast o' thine : 
The courtiers' gems may witness love — 

But 'tis na love like mine. 
U 2 



232 

LASSIE WP THE LINT-WHITE 
LOCKS. 

Tune, — ' Botkkmurches Rcuit.' 
CHORUS. 

Lassie ~xi the lint-xvhite locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 
Wi't thou wi 1 we tent thefiochs, 
Wilt thou be my dearie O ? 

Now nature deeds the flow'ry lea, 
And a* is young and sweet like thee ; 
O wik thou share its joys wi' me 
And say thou'it be my dearie O ? 
Lassie ivi\ §c. 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheer'd iik drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
Lassie ivi\ Sfc. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way ; 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie O. 

Lassie a/', fyc. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
Enclasped to my faithfu breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie O. 

Lassie m' the !iut-u:hlte loch, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie % 
Wilt thou wi' me tent thejloi 

Wilt thou be my dearie G f 



SONG. 

Tune,—' Tke Sow's Tail.' 
HE. 

O Philly, happy be that day 
When roving through the gather'd hay, 
My youthfu' heart was stown away, 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 



233 

SHE. 

O Willy, ay I bless the grove 
Where first I own'd my maiden love, 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 

HE. 

As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 

SHE. 

As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows, 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

HE. 

The milder sun and bmer sky, 
That crown my harvest cares wi? joy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 
As is a sight o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Tho' wafting o'er the flow'ry spring, 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the op'ning flower, 
Compared wi* my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Philiy. 

SHE. 

The woodbine in the dewy weet 
When evening shades in silence meet, 
lb aooht sae fragrant or sac sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy. 

HE., 

Let fortune's wheel at random nh, 
And fools may tyne, and knaves may win ^ 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
And that's my ain dear Philiy. 
U 3 



S3* 

SHE. 

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie ! 
I care nae wealth a single flee ,* 
The lad I love's the lad for me, 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 



SONG. 

Tune, — * Lumps o' Pudding.' 

Contented wi' little, and cantie Wi' mair, 
WTiene'er I forgather wi* sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin alang, 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auid Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught ; 
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, 
And my Freedom's my lairdshlp nae monarch dare touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' guid fellowship sovvthers it a' : 
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 

Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way ; 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure, or pain, 
My warst word is — ' Welcome, and welcome again !'* 

CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, 
MY KATY? 

Tune, — * Roys wife.* 

CHOI! US. 

Canst thru leave me thus, my Katy? 
Canst thou leave me thus,, my Katy ? 
Well thou hwtv'st my aching heart. 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity t 

Is this thy plighted, fond regard, 

Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 
Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 

Ca«^ t/iouj 4'c. 



235 



Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 

Thou may'st find those will love thee dear- 
But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
Canst thou, fyc. 



MY NANNIE'S AWA. 

Tune, — ' 'There 'U never be peace,' <£c. 

Now in her green mantle blithe nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it's delighticss — my Nannie's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn. 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,, 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', 
Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa. 

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, 
And sooth me wi' tidings o' nature's decay : 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa, 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that ; 
The coward-slave, we pass him by, 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toil's obscure, and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp* 

The man's the gowd for a' that* 



236 

What-tho* on hamely tare we dine, 

Wear hoddin grey, and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 

A man's a man for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, and a' that 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 

Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a coof for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent mind, 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
Tbe pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 

Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As co.ne it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 

May bear the gree, and a' that ^ 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's coming yet, for a' that, 
That man to man. the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



SONG. 

Tune, — ' Crai g /C ' b u m- VB MtL ' 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn r 
And blithe awakes the morrow, 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow, 



237 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 

But what a weary wight can please, 
And care his bosom wringing ? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 

If you refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anithcr, 
"When yon green leaves fade frae the tree 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



SONG. 

Tune, — ' Let me in this ae night.* 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 
Or art thou wakin, I would wit ? 
For love has bound me, hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

O let me in this ae night , 

This ae, ae, ae night ; 
Tor pity's sake this ae night , 

rise and let me in, jo. 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ; 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, fyc. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; 
The cauldness o 1 thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
let me in, fyc. 



238 
HER ANSWER. 

O Tell na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na* me wi' cauld disdain ! 
Gae back the gate ye cam' again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

I tell you novo this ae night. 

This ae, ae, ae night. 
And mice for a' this ae niglit, 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures, 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
/ tell you novo, Sfc, 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed; 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 
/ tell you now, fyc. 

The bird that charm'd his summer-day. 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting, woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo, 
J tell you novo, fyc* 



ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. 

Tune, — • Where 11 bonnie Annie lie.* Or, — ■ Loch-Eroch Side* 

O Stay, sweet warbling wood-lark stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 



239 

Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, 
Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 

Thou tells o* never-ending care ; 
O* speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae rnair, 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 



ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. 

Tune, — * Ay ivalcm 0.' 
CHORUS. 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow. 
While my soul's delight , 

Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Can I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to languish, 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish? 
Long, 8)C. 

Every hope is fled. 

Every fear is terror ; 
Slumber even I dread, 

Every dream is horror. 
Long, fyc. 

Hear me, Pow'rs divine I 

Oh, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine, 

But my Chloris spare me 1 

Long, 8$c. 



SONG. 

Tune, — * Humours of Glen? 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume, 

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 
Wi' the burn stealing under the Tang yellow broom. 



240 

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : 

For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
A list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunn)^ vallies, 
And cauld, Caledonia's blast on the wave : 

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace, 
What are they ? The haunt of the tyrant and slave ! 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, 
The brave Caledonian views wf disdain ; 

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 



SONG. 

Tune, — • Laddie lie near me.' 

'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. 

Sajr do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest J 
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, 
Sooner the sun in his motion would faiter. 



SOXG. 

Tune, — ' John Anderson my jo. 1 

How cruel are the parents, 

Who riches only prize ; 
And to the wealthy booby, 

Poor woman sacrifice. 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has but a choice of strife ; 
To shun a tyrant father's hate, 

Become a wretched wife. 



Ml 

Tie ravening hawk pursuing, 

The trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

Awhile her pinions tries ; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet. 



SONG. 

Tune,—' This is no my aia House** 
CHORUS. 

O this is no my ain lassie, 

Fair tho y the lassie be : 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her e'e. 

J See a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
this is no, §c. 

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And ay it charms my very saul,- 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, fyc. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 
But gleg as light are lovers' een 
When kind love is in the e'e. 
this is no, $)C 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
This is no, fye> 



242 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM 

SCOTTISH SONG. 

Now spring has clad the groves in green, 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ; 
The furrow'd waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
"While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 

The trout within yon wimpling burn 

Glides swift'a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was ance that careless stream, 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch'd my fountains dry. 

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows, 
Was mine ; till love has o'er me past, 

And blighted a' my bloom, 
And now beneath the withering blast 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reck I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " hope nae mair,' r 

What tongue his woes can tell ! 
Within whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



243 



SCOTTISH SONG. 

O Bon t \ t ie was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sue far Frae haunt o' man ; 
And bonnie she, and ah, how dear I 

It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 

How pure amang the leaves sae green ; 

But purer was the lover's vow 

They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower, 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair ! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I, the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



Written on the blank leaf of the last Edition of hfe 
Poems, presented to Chloris. 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower ; 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer flower). 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, 

The comforts of the mind ! 
X 2 



ft*4 

Thine is the self-approving glow, 
On conscious honour's part : 

And, dearest gift of heaven below, 
Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refin'd of sense and taste, 
With ev'ry muse to rove : 

And doubly were the poet blest 
These joys could he improve. 



ENGLISH SONG. 

Time, — * Let me in this ae night. 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 
Par, far from thee, I wander here; 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I must repine, love. 

CHORUS. 

O xvert thou, love, lid near me, 
But near, near, near me ; 
Hotv kindly thou wovfdst cheer me, 
And mingle sighs with mine, love. 

Around me scowls a wintry sky, 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O xvert, S{C. 

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, 

To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart, 

And say that fate is mine, love. 

O xvert, $c. 

But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet ! 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love, 
O xvert, 4 c. 



245 
SCOTTISH BALLAD. 

Tune, — ' The Lothian Lassie.' 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 
And sair wi* his love he did deave me ; 

I said there was naething I hated like men, 

The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me. 

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en, 

And vow'd for my love he was dying ; 
I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, 

The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, 

The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, 
And marriage aff-hand were his proffers : 

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd, 

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But v. hat wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 
The deil take his taste to gae near her ! 

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, cuul<l 

bear her ? 
Guess ye how, the jad I I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o 7 Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my Hue fickle lover was there, 

I giowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I giowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 
Least neebor* might say I was saucy ; 

My wooer he caper' d as he'd been in drink, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,* 
And vow'd I was his dear lassis. 

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 

Gin she had recover'd herhearin, 
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet r 

But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a s\veari%. 

But, heavens ! how he fell a swearhi. 

X 3 



246 

He begged, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow : 

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



FRAGMENT. 

Tune, — ' The Cuhdoniun Hunt's Delight^ 

Why, why tell thy lover, 

Bliss he never must enjoy ? 
Why, why undeceive him, 

And give all his hopes the lie ? 

O why, while fancy, rnptur'd, slumbers, 

Chloris, Chloris all the theme ; 
Why, why wouldst thou cruel, 

Wake thy lover from his dream ? 

HEY FOR A LASS WF A TOCHER. 

Tune, — ' Balmamona ora.' 

Awa wi' your witchcraft o J beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms, 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o'* charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey, for a lass m? a tocher, then hey, for a lass 

wi* a tocher t 
Then hey, for a lass wi* a tocher ; the nice yellow 

guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knov.es, 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes. 
Then hey, fyc. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may clcy, when possest : 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer ye hae them — the mair they're car est. 

Then hey, #c 



217 
SONG. 

Tune,— ' Here's a health to them that's awa, tiiney. * 
CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane Hoc dear, 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 

Thou art sweet as the smile xvhen fond lovers meet, 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Aitho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world heside — Jessy I 
Here's a health, fyc. 

I mourn thro* the gay, gaudy day, 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms: 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
For then I am lock't in thy arms — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, Sfc. 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 

I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; 
But why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, 8$c. 



SONG. 

Tune, — ■ Rothiemurche. * 
CHORUS. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 

Wilt thou lay tkat jfrovoii aside, 

And smile as thou were wont to dot 

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear, 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
O, did not love exclaim, " Forbear, 
" Nor use a faithful lover so ?" ' 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear ; 
No love but thine my heart shall know. 
Fairest maid, §c. 



248 
THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go to the dirks of Aberfeldy f 

Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, 
Come let us spend the lightsome days 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, fyc. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blithely sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, fyc 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, §c. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi* flowers, 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And rising weets wi' misty showers 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, Sfc. 

Let fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me* 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, $c> 



STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU 
LEAVE ME. 

Tune, — ' An Gille dubh cinr dhubh.*' 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 

Well you know how much you grieve me - K 

Cruel chanuer, can you go ? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 



219 

By my love so ill requited : 

By the faith you fondly plighted ; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted ; 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. 

Thickest night o'erhang my dwelling ! 

Howling tempests o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents,, wintry swelling, 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 

Busy haunts of base mankind, 
Western breezes softly blowing, 

Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engaged, 

Wrongs injurious to redress, 
Honour's war we strongly waged, 

But the heavens deny'd success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 

Not a hope that dare attend, 
The wide world is all before us — 

But a world without a friend ! 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. 

Tune, — ' Jtforag.' 

Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 

The snaws the mountains cover ; 
Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland Rover 

Far wanders nations over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 

May Heaven be his warden : 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castie-Gordou ! 

The trees now naked groaning, 

Shall soon wV leaves be hinging, 
The birdies dowie moaning;. 



250 

Shall a* be blithely singing, 

And every flower be springing. 
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, 

When by his mighty warden 
My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle Gordon. 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER 
BLOWING. 

Tune, — * M'Grigor of Hero's Lament.' 

Raving winds around her blowing, 

Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 

By a river hoarsely roaring, 

Isabella stray'd deploring. 

" Farewell, hours that late did measure 

*• Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 

w Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow, 

" Cheerless night that knows no morrow, 

" O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
" On the hopeless future pondering ; 
" Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
" Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
" Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
il Load to misery most distressing, 
" O how gladly I'd resign thee, 
" And to dark oblivion join thee !" 



MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. 

Tune,' — ' Druimion dubh.* 

Musing on the roaring ocean, 

Which divides my love and me ; 
Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 

For his weal where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 

Yielding late to nature's law ; 
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 

Talk of him that's far awo. 



251 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 
Ye who never shed a tear, 

Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, 
Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me 
Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 

Spirits kind, again attend me, 
Talk of him that's far awa ! 



BLYLHE WAS SHE. 

Blythe, blythe and merry tvas she, 
Blythe tvas she but and ben : 

Blythe by the banks of Em, 
And blythe in Glenturit glen. 

By Oughtertyre grows the aik, 

On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw ; 

But Phemie was a bonnier lass 

Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. . 

Blythe, Sfc. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn; 

She tripped by the banks of Em, 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blythe, fyc. 

Her bonnie face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lee ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blythe, %c. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blythest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blythe, %c. 



ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. 

A Rose- Bud by my early walk^ 
Adown a corn-enclosing- bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 



252 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
In a' its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, 
On trembling string or vocal air, 
Shah sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning, 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



WHERE RAVING ANGRY 
WINTER'S STORMS. 

Tunc, — ' JV. Gouts Lamentation for Absrcairnij. 

Where braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochils rise, 
Far in their shades my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wond'ring eyes. 
As one who by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd doubly marks its beam, 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, 

When first I felt their pow'r ! 
The tyrant Death with grim controul 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



253 
TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 

Tune, — * Invercaxdd's Reel.* 

Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 

Ye tvould na been sae shy ; 
For laik o gear ye lightly me, 

But, trouth, I care na by* 

Yestreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stour : 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, fyc. 
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink, 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

Tibbie, I hae, fyc. 
But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, fyc, 
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 

O Tibbie, I hae, Sfc. 
But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear, 
Be better than the kye. 

Tibbie, I hae, fyc» 
But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price, 
Were ye as poor as I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, fyc. 
There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would na gie her in her sark, 
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; 
Ye need nae look sae high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, 8$c, 
t Y 



254 
CLARINDA. 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 

The measur'd time is run ! 
The wretch beneath the dreary pole 

So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Svlvander hie ; 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 

The sun of all his joy. 

We part — but by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
Has blest my glorious day : 

And shall a glimmering planet fix 
My worship to its ray ? 



THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM 
BURNS. 

Tune, — ■ Seventh of November* 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet : 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
While joys above, my mind can move, 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part; 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 



255 
THE LAZY MIST. 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
Concealing the course of the dark winding rill ; 
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, 
As autumn to winter resigns the pale year. 
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : 
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 
How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues ; 
How long I have liv'd — but how much liv'd in vain : 
How little of life's scanty span may remain : 
What aspects, old Time, in his progress has worn ; 
What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn. 
How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain*d ! 
And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how 

pain'd ! 
This life's not worth having with all it can give. 
For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 



O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL! 

Tune, — * My love is lost to me* 

O, Were I on Parnassus' hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill, 

To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my muse s well, 
My muse maun be thy bonnie seP ; 
On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay ! 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I coudna sing, 1 coudna say, 

How much, how dear I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — 

By heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame; 
And ay I muse and sing thy name, 
I only live to love thee. 



256 

Tho* I were doom'd to wander on, 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 
Till then — and then I love thee. 



I LOVE MY JEAN. 

Tune, — ' Miss Admiral Gordon s Strathspey. 

Of a* the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And raony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu* birds, 

I hear her charm the air ; 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green, 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 

But nature sicken'd on the e'e. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the while, 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Farewell the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, 

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; 
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, 

Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle. 



257 
WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT. 

O, Willie brew' J a peck o' maut, 
And Rob and Allan cam to see ; 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

We are najbu, xve're na thatfou, 
But just a drappie in our e'e ; 

The cock may craiv, the clay may daw t 
And ay we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys I trow are we ; 

And mony a night we've merry been, 
And mony mae we hope to be 1 
We are nafou, fyc. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; 

She shines sae bright to wyle us ha me, 
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee i 
We are nafou, fyc. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 

A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
Wha first beside his chair shall fa', 

He is the king amang us three! 
We are najbu, fyc. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASS 

I Gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, i'ii dearly rue : 
I gat my death frae twa sweet e'en, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright; 

Her lips hke roses, wat wi' dew, 
Her Heaving bosom, lily-white; 

It was her een sae bonnie blue* 

She talk'd, she smii'd, my heart she wyTd, 
She charm'd my oul I wist na h 

.And ay the sto ui, th< deadly w< 
Cam frae hei i de j,ue. 



258 

But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow ; 
Should she refuse, I'll lay ray dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



THE BANKS OF NITH. 

Tune, — • Robie Donna Gorach.' 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me, 

Where Cummins anee had high command . 
When shall I see that honour'd land, 

That winding stream I love so dear ! 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom 1 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
Alay there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days ! 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent^ 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson raj- jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And mony a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither : 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson mv jo. 



259 
TAM GLEN. 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len', 

To anger them a* is a pity ; 

But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen ? 

I'm thinking, wi* sic a braw fellow, 

In poortith I might mak a fen' ; 
What care I in riches to wallow, 

If I maunna marry Tarn Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the laird o' Drumeller, 
" Gude day to you, brute," he comes ben : 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller, 

But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? 

My minnie does constantly deave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten : 

But, if it's ordain'd I maun tak him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten ; 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen. 

The last Halloween I was waukin 
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin, 
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! 

Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; 

I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O Meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, 
And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 

But iittle thinks my luve I ken brawlie, 
My Tocher's the jewel has charms for hiss* 



260 

It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; 
My laddie's sae ineikle in luve wi' the siller, 

He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve s an airl-penny, 

My Tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; 
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And ye'il crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 



THEN GUIDWIFE COUNT THE 
LAW1N. 

Gane is the day and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light, 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon, 
And bluid-red wine's the risin sun. 

Then guidvoife count the lavoin, the lawin, the lavoin, 
Then guidivife count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair* 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen'; 
But here we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 
Then ^uidvcife count, fyc. 

My coggie is a haly pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout. 
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out, 
Then guidwife count, 8f& 

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO 
WP AN AULD MAN? 

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man 1 

Bad luck OM the penny that tempted my iinnnie 
To sell her poor Jenny fa siiier an' ian' J 
Had Iuck to the idling, $c. 



261 

He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; 

He's doyl't and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows: 
O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 

I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him, 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 

THE BONNIE WEE THING. 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 

Lovely wee thing, was thou mine, 
I wad wear thee in my bosom, 

Lest my jewel I should tine. 

Wishfully I look and languish 

In that bonnie face o' thine ; 
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee, fyc. 



O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY TAM ! 

Tune, — ' The Moudiewort.' 

An Of for ane and twenty Tarn / 

An hey, sweet ane and twenty. Tarn ! 

I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang, 
An I saw ane and twenty, Tarn, 

They snool me sair, and haud me down, 

And gar me look like bluntie, Tarn ! 
But three short years will soon wheel roun', 

And then comes ane and twenty, Tarn. 
An O,for ane, fyc. 



Q6<2 

A gleib o' Ian, a claut o' gear, 
Was left me by my auntie, Tarn ; 

At kith or kin I need na spier, 
An I saw ane and twenty, Tam. 
An 0,Jbr ane, tyc. 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam; 

But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof, 
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam 1 
An 0, for ane, fyc. 



BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL. 

O Leeze me on my spinning wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en I 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O leeze ine on my spinning wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekit cot ; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white, 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes caller rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel', 
Where blithe I turn my spinning wheeL 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
Ami echo pons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craik amang the clover hay, 
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley, 
Tiie swallow jinkin round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinning wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, a* d less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 



263 

Amid their flaring, idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel ? 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 

In simmer when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While clover blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield : 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will ; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, 

O' gude advisement comes nae ill. 

Its ye hae wooers mony ane, 

And lassie, ye're but young ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben : 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen, 

It's plenty beets the luver's fire. 

For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single flee ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, 

He has nae luve to spare for me : 
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught ; 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, 

A hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. 



264 

O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome luve, 

The gowd and siller canna buy ; 
We may be poor — Robie and I, 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a throne ? 



FAIR ELIZA. 

A GAELIC AIR. 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart ? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence, 

Under friendship's kind disguise ! 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ? 

The offence is loving thee : 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die ? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe ; 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o' sinny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens on his e'e, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



THE POSIE. 

O Luve will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen, 
O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been ; 



265 

But I will down yon river rove, among the wood aae 
green, 
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, 
And I will pu* the pink, the emblem o' my dear, 
For she's the pink o' woman kind, and blooms without 
a peer; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phebus peeps in view, 
For its like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou ; 
The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue : 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air : 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey, 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, 
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak 
away : 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, 
And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een sae 

clear ; 
The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to wear : 
And a. to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band ©' love, 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a* 

above, 
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er 

remove, 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 



THE BANKS O' DOON. 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Daon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ! 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae weary fu' o' care i 

t z 



266 

Thou'll break my heart thou warbling bird, 
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn : 

Thou minds me o' departed joys, 
Departed never to return. 

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
And ilka bird sang o' its love, 

And, fondly, sae did I o' mine. 
Wi* lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree : 
And my fause iover stole my rose, 

But, ah J he left the thorn wi' me. 



SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, 

"Willie was a wabster gude, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie ; 

He had a wife was dour and din, 
O Tinkler Madgie was her mither $ 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I ivad na gie a button for her. 

She has an e'e, she has but ane, 
The cat has twa the very colour ; . 

Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ; 

A whiskin beard about her mou, 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither ; 
Sic a tvife, 8{C. 

She's bow-hough'd, she's hen shinn'd, 
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter ; 

She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
To balance fair in ilka quarter : 

She has a hump upon her breast, 
The twin o' that upon her shouther ; 
Sic a wife, Sfc. 

Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, 

And wi' her loof her face a-washin ; 

But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion j 



267 

Her walie nieves like midden creels* 
Her face wad fyle the Logan-water ; 

Sic a tvife as Willie had, 

I voa.l na gie a button for her. 

GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

Ance mair I hail tliee, thou gloomy December, 

Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; 
Sad was the parting thou makes ne remember, 

Parting wi* Nancy, Oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; 
But the dire feeling Ofarewelljbr ever, 

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

'Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ; 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember^ 

Parting wi' Nancy, Oh, ne'er to meet mair. 

EVAN BANKS. 

Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires, 
The sun from India's shore retires ; 
To Evan banks, with temp'rate ray, 
Home of my youth, it leads the day. 
Oh ! banks to me for ever dear! 
Oh ! stream whose murmurs still I hear !^ 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside, 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she, in simple beauty drest, 
Whose image lives within my breast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh, 
And long pursu'd me with her eye! 
Does she, with heart utichang'd as mine* 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ?•■ 



268 

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound ! 

Ye lavish woods that wave around, 

And o'er the stream your shadows throw, 

Which sweetly winds so far below ; 

What secret charm to mem 'ry brings, 

All that on Evan's border springs? 

Sweet banks ! ye bloom by Mary's side : 

Blest stream ! she views thee haste to Clyde. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost ? 
Return ye moments of delight, 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 
Swift from this desart let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
Nor more may aught my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to Clyde. 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE. 

Wilt thou be my dearie ; 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 
O wilt thou let me cheer thee ; 

By the treasure of my soul, 
And that's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow, that only thou 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou I swear and vow, 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 

Or if thou wilt na be my ain, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me : 

If it winna, canna be, 
Thou, for thine, may chuse me : 

Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

Lassie, let me quickly die, 

Trusting that thou lo'es mey 



269 
SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 

She's fair and fause that causes my smart, 

I lo'ed her meikle and Jang ; 
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi* routh o' gear, 
And I hae tint my dearest dear, 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 

woman lovely, woman fair ! 

An angel form's faun to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gein thee mair, 
I mean an angel mind. 

AFTON WATER. 

Flow gently sweet Afton among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro* the glen> 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear 

1 charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
Far raark'd with the courses of clear winding rills ; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valKes below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft as mild evening weep^ over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me- 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clea* wave,. 
Z 3 



Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



BONNIE BELL. 

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly Winter grimly flies ; 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the suns returning, 
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flow'ry Spring leads sunny Summer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 

'Till smiling Spring again appear, 
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old Time and Nature their changes tell, 
But never ranging, still unchanging, 

I adore my bonnie Bell. 



THE GALLANT WEAVER 

Where Cart rins rowin to the sea, 
By monv a flow'r and spreading tree, 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 
He is a gallant weaver. 

Oh I had wooers aught or nine, 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine, 
And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band 
To de the lad that has the land, 
J3ut to my heart I'll add my hand, 
And give it to the weaver. 



271 

Wliile birds rejoice in leafy bowers • 
While bees delight in opening flowers ; 
While com grows green in simmer showers 
I'll love my gallant weaver. 



LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE. 

Louis, what reck I by thee, 

Or Geordie on his ocean ? 
Dyvor, beggar louns to me, 

I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law, 

And in her breast enthrone me s 
Kings and nations, swith awa ! 

Reif randies I disown ye ! 



FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 

My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night 
For the sake of somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 

O, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody, 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody 1 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And ay the saut tear blins her e'e : 



272 

Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, 

\ waefu' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost ray father dear, 

My father dear and brethren three. 

Their winding sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see ; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A blu : dy man I trow thou be ; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE 
DEATH OF HER SON. 

Tune, — " Finlayston Home." 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 

And pierc'd my darling s heart : 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

[n dust dishonour'd laid : 
So fell the pride of all my hopes, 

My age's future shade. 

The mother-linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So I. for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live day long. 
Death, oft I've fear d thy fatal blow, 

Now, fond I bare my breast, 
O do thou kindly lay me low 

With him I love at rest ! 



O MAY THY MORN. 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 
As the mirk night o December: 

For sparkling was the rosy wine, 
And private was the chamber : 

And dear was she I dare na name, 
But I will ay remember. 
And dear } d>c* 



2?3 

And here's to them, that, like oursel, 
Can push about the jorum ; 

And here's to them that wish us well, 
May a' that's gude watch o'er them ; 

And here's to them, we dare na tell, 
The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to, 8$c. 



O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN 

O, Wat ye w-ha's in yon town, 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 
The fairest dame's in yon town, 

That e'enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw, 

She wanders by yon spreading tree ; 
How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw. 

Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. 

How blest ye birds that round her sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year? 

And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Lucy dear. 

The sun blinks blythe on yon town, 

And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; 
But my delight in yon town, 

And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms, 

O' paradise could yield me joy ; 
But gi'e me Lucy in my arms, 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 

Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 
And she a lovely little flower, 

That I wad tent and shelter thers, 

O sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon * 
A fairer than's in yon town, 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 



If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear ; 

I careless quit aught else below ; 
But spare me, spare me Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 

And she — as fairest is her form ! 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

O My love's like a red, red rose, 
That's newly sprung in June : 

O my love's like the melodie 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in love am I : 
And I will love thee still, my dear, 

'Till a' the seas gang dry. 

'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 
will love thee still my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only love, 
And fare thee weel, a while ! 

And I wiil come again, my love, 
Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 



A VISION 1 . 

As I stood by yon roofless tower, 

Where the wa'-iiower scents the dewy air, 

\\ here the howiet mourns in her ivy bower, 
And tells the midnight moon her care. 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 
The stars they shrt alang the sky ; 

The fox was howling on the bill, 

And the distant-echoing giens reply. 



TI5 

The stream adown its hazelly path, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's 

Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, . 
Whase distant roaring swells and fa's. 

The cauld blue north was streaming forth 
Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din ; 

Athort the lift they start and shift, 
Like fortune's favours, tint as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 
And, by the moon-beam, shook, to see 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o* stane, 
His darin look had daunted me ; 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 
The sacred posie — Libertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 
Might rous'd the slumb'ring dead to hear 

But oh, it was a tale of woe, 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy his former day, 
He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 

But what he said it was nae play, 
1 winna ventur't in my rhymes. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a the hills arc covered wi* snaw, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 

A' day they fare but sparely ; 
And lang's the night frae e'en to rnorn, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Up in in the morning, fyc. 



2?6 

I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS 
WERE SPRINGING. 

I Dream'd I lay where flowers were springing, 

Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
Listening to the wild bird singing, 

By a falling, crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 

Thro* the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
Trees with aged arms were warring, 

O'er the swelling,, drumlie wave. 

Such was my life's deceitful morning^ 

Such the pleasure I enjoy 'd ; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming 

A 'my flow'ry bliss destroy 'd 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, 

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill ; 
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



BEWARE O' BOMNIE ANN. 

Ye gallants bright, I red you right, 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ; 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, grace, and love attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van : 
In a' their charms, and conquering arms, 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands, 

But love enslaves the man ; 
Ye gallants braw, I red you a', 

Beware o' bonnie Ann. 



277 
BONNIE MARY. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie ; 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry : 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun lea'e my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glitt'ring spears are ranked ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar, 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



SONG. 

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 

There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity, 

That he from our lasses should wander awa : 
For he's bonnie and braw, well-favour'd with a'. 

And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue ; 

His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw : 
His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, 

And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a . 
His coat is the hue, &c. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin , 
Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel mounted and 
braw ; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, 

The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. — 
There's Meg wi' the mailen, that fain wad a haen him, 

And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha' ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, 
— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a* 
+ Aa 



278 
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highland's a chasing the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; 
"Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is r;ot here, 
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 



SONG. 

THE RANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O'T. 

O wha my babie-clouts will buy? 
Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. — 

Wha will own he did the faut ? 
Wha will buy my groanin-maut ? 
Wha will tell me how to ca't ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. — 

When I mount the creepie-chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair, 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. — 

Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me fidgin fain ? 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 



279 
SONG. 

CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie. 
Aid to be lying beyond thee, 

sweetly, soundly, voeel may he sleep, 
That's laid in the bed beyond thee. 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood, 

And blithely awakens the morrow ; 
But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-wood, 

Can yield to me nothing but sorrow, 
Beyond thee, fyc. 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

1 hear the wild birds singing ; 
But pleasure they hae nane for me, 

While care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, fyc. 

I canna tell, I maunna tell, 

I dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 
Beyond thee, fyc. 

I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, 

I see thee sweet and bonnie, 
But, oh, what will my torments be, 

If thou refuse thy Johnie ! 
Beyond thee, fyc. 

To see thee in anither's arms, 

In love to lie and languish, 
'Twad be my dead, that will be seen^ 

My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
Beyond thee, fyc. 

But Jeanie, sav thou wilt be mine, 
Say, taou lo'3s nane before me ; 
And a' my days o' life to come 
I'll gratefully adore thee. 
Beyond thee, fyc. 

Aa 2 



280 
I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAEFAIR. 

I Do confess thou art sae fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs in love ; 
Had I na found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak, thy heart could move. 

I do confess thee sweet, but find 

Thou art thriftless o* thv sweets, 
Thy favours are the silly wind 

That kisses ilka thing it meets. 
See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, 

Amang its native briers sae coy, 
How sune it tines its scent and hue 

When pu'd and worn a common toy ! 

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide, 

Tho' thou may gaily bloom a while ; 
Yet sune thou shait be thrown aside, 

Like ony common weed and vile. 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather 

to feed, 
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his 

reed : 

Where the grouse, $c. 

Not Cowrie's richvallies, nor Forth's sunny shores, 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely, and sequester'd stream, 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path, 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath ; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, 
While o'er us unheeded, flee the swift hours o' love. 

She is not the fairest, 311110' she is fair ; 
O' nice education but sma' is her share ; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be ; 
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 



281 

"To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs ; 
And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts, 
They dazzle our een, as they flee to our hearts. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e, 
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ; 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms, 
O, these are my lassie's all- conquering charms ! 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER 
DOOR? 



Wha is that at my bower door ? 

O wha is it but Findlay ? 
Then gae your gate ye'se nae be here ! 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief? 

O come and see, quo* Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye'll work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo* Findlay. 

Gif I rise and let you in — 

Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay — 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain, 

Pll remain, quo' Findlay ; 
I dread ye'll learn the gate again ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay ; 
What may pass within this bower, 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay ! 

Aa 3 



282 
SONG. 

Tune,—" The Weaver and his Shuttle, OS 

My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border, O, 
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O ; 
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a 

farthing, O 
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth 

regarding, O. 

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O 

Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was 
charming, O 

My talents they were not the worst ; nor yet my edu- 
cation, O 

Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O. 

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's 

favour, O 
Some cause unseen, still stept between, to frustrate 

each endeavour, O 
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; sometimes by 

friends forsaken, O 
And when my hope was at the tcp, I still was worst 

mistaken, O. 

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with fortune's 

vain delusion, O 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this 

conclusion, O 
The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill 

untried, O 
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would 

enjoy it, O. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to 
befriend me, O 

So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sus- 
tain me, O 

To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred 
me early, O 

For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for 
fortune fairly, O. 



283 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro* life I'm 
dooin'd to wander, O. 

Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slum- 
ber, O 

No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me 
pain or sorrow, O 

I live to-day, as well's I may, regardless of to-mor- 
row, O. 

But cheerful still, I am as well, as a monarch in a 

palace, O. 
Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her 

wonted malice, O 
I make indeed, my daily bread, but ne'er can make it 

farther, O 
But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard 

her, O. 

When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O 
Some unforseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon 

me, O 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my goodnatur'd 

folly, O 
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be 

melancholy, O. 

All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting 

ardour, O 
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your 

view the farther, O 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore 

you, O 
A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before 

you, O. 



SONG. 

Tho* cruel fate should bid us part, 
As far's the pole and line ; 

Her dear idea round my heart 
Should tenderly entwine. 



284 

Tbo' mountains frown and deserts howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean. 



SONG— FRAGMENT. 

Tune, — ' John Anderson my Jo.* 

One night as I did wander, 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat me down to ponder, 

Upon an auld tree root : 
Auld Air ran by before me, 

And bicker'd to the seas ; 
A cushat crowded o'er me 

That echoed thro' the braes. 



SONG.— FRAGMENT. 

Tune, — ' Daintie Davie.* 

There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
But what na day o' what na style 
I doubt its hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

Robin nas a ravin Boy, 

Raniin ravin*, rantia ravin* : 

Robin xvas a ravin* Boy, 
Raniin 1 ravin' Robin. 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
Was rive-and-twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keekit in his loof, 
Quo' scho wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof, 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 



285 

He'll hae misfortunes great and smaY 
But ay a heart aboon them a* ; 
He'll be a credit till us a', 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin, 

But sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith quo' scho I doubt you, Sir, 
Ye gar the lasses * * * * 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur 
So blessin's on thee, Robin ! 

Robin was a rovin* Boy, 

Rantin* rovin\ ra?itin' roviri ; 

Robin was a rovin Boy, 
Rantin* rovin 1 Robin. 



SONG —FRAGMENT. 

Tune, — ' i" had a Horse and I had nae mair.' 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was nae steady, 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade 

A mistress still I had ay : 

But when I came roun by Mauchline town, 

Not dreadin' any body, 
My heart was caught before I thought, 

And by a Mauchline lady. 

******* 



SONG.— FRAGMENT. 

Tune,— « Gatta Water.' 

Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be 

Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. 



1 



286 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms, 

And winter nights were dark and rainy ; 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 

I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.— 

Were I a Baron proud and high, 

And horse and servants waiting ready, 

Then a' twad gie o' joy to me, 

The sharin't with Mongomerie's Feggy.— 



SONG.— FRAGMENT. 

O Raging fortune's with'ring blast 

Has laid my leaf full low ! O 
O raging fortune's with'ring blast 

Has laid my leaf full low ! O. 
My stem was fair, my bud was green, 

My blossom sweet did blow, O 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 

And made my branches grow, O. 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 



SONG. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy : 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 



287 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 



SONG. 

Tune, — • Banks of Banna.' 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na' ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of A nna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie me within ray straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An Empress or Sultana, 
While dying raptures in her arms 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night, 

Sun, moon, and stars withdraw a' ; 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna i 

CALEDONIA. 

Tune, — * Caledonian Hunt's Delight.' 

There was once a day, but old Time then was young, 
That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 



288 

From some of your northern deities sprung, 

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine ?) 

From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 
To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 

Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign, 

And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew : 
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, — 

" Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall 
rue r 
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport. 

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn ; 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, 

Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 

Long quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand : 
Repeated, successive, for many long years, 

They darken'd the air. and they plunder'd the land : 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside ; 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 

The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north, 

The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; 
The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth, 

To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore : 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd. 

No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. 

The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose, 

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose. 

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life : 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood ; 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, 
Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : 



289 

For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose, 

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base ; 
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse ; 

Then, ergo, she'll match them, and match them 
always. 



SONG. 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my muse's care : 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my highland lassie, O. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O, 
J set me down wi right good will ; 
To sing my highland lassie, 0, 

Oh, were yon hills and vallies mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, fyc. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
I'll love my highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, fyc. 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, fyc. 

For her I'll dare the billow's roar, 
For her I'll trace a distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, fyc. 

t z 



290 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my highland lassie, O. 

Farewell the glens sae bushy, ! 
Farewell the plains sae rushy, ! 
To other lands I novo must go. 
To sing my highland lassie } ! 



SONG. 

Tune,—' Morag* 

O wha is she that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a keeping ? 

O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' simmer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping. 

CHORUS. 

that's the lassie o' my heart, 

My lassie ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' woman kind, 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie, 
In grace and beauty charming, 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Ere while thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming, 
O that's, Sfc. 

If thou hadst heard her talking, 
And thy attentions plighted, 

That ilka body talking, 

But her by thee is slighted ; 
And thou art all delighted. 
that's, Sfc. 

If thou hast met this fair one, 
When frae her thou hast parted, 

If every other fair one, 

But her thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted.— 
O that's, %c. 



291 
SONG. 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 

O'er the mountains he is gane ; 
And with him is a' my bliss, 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 
Spare my love, ye winds that blaw, 

Plashy sleets and beating ram ! 
Spare my love, thou feathery snaw, 

Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 
When the shades of evening creep 

O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 
Sound and safely may he sleep, 

Sweetly blithe his waukening be t 
He will think on her he loves, 

Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 
For where'er he distant roves, 

Jockey's heart is still at hame. 

SONG. 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, 
Might charm the first of human kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly, heavn'ly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art, 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 
The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway* 
Who but knows they all decay ! 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear, 
The gentle look, that rage disarms, 
These are all immortal charms. 



SONG, 

WRITTEN AND SUNG AT THE GENERAL MEETING OF THE EXCISE 
OFFICERS IN SCOTLAND. 

The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ; 
And ilka auld wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun* 
" We wish you luck o' the prize mast* 



29% 

CHORUS. 

" Well male our maut, and brevo our drink y 
" We'll dance and sing and rejoice man ; 

" And mony thanks to the muckle black Deil } 
" That dane'd atva voi' the Exciseman. 

" There's threesome reels, and foursome reels, 
" There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 
" But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian', 
" Was the Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman.' , 
" Well mak our maut, fyc." 



A SONG ON MISS PEGGY K- 

Tune — ** Last time I came o'er the midr." 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 

She's blushing like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With pearly gems adorning. 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams, 

That gild the passing shower, 
And glitter on the crystal streams, 

And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 

Her lips more than the cherry's bright, 

A richer die has grae'd them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them. 
Her smile is like the evening mild, 

When feather'd pairs are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her. 
As blooming spring unbends the brow 

Of savage, surly winter. 
Distraction's eye no arm can join 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And spiteful envy grins in vain 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye powers of honour, love and truth, 

From every ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her. 



293 

Still fan the sweet connubial flame, 
Responsive in each bosom ; 

And bless the dear parental name, 
With many a filial blossom. 



THE BANKS OF THE DEVON, 

How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, 

With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming 
fair, 
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon, 

Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 

In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew ; 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 

VVith chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn ; 
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn* 
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 

And England, triumphant, display her proud rose j. 
A fairer than either adorns the green vallies, 

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT 

AFTER THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN. 

Tune—" Captain Okcdru" 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 

The murm'ring streamlet runs clear thro' the vale ; 
The primroses blow' in the dews of the morning, 

And wild scatter' d cowslips bedeck the green dale; 
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 

When the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 
No birds sweetly singing, nor flowers gaily springing,. 

Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd, cou'd it merit their malice, 
A king and a father to place on his throne ! 

His right are these hills, and his right are these vallies, 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. 
Z 3 



294 

But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn, 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn ; 

Your faith prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, 
Alas ! can I make it no better return ! 



ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 

On a bank of flowers one summer's day, 

For summer lightly dress'd, 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 

With love and sleep oppress'd, 
When Willy, wand'ring thro' the wood, 

Who for her favour oft had su'd, 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 

And trembl'd when he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, 

Were seal'd in soft repose, 
Her lips still as they fragrant breath'd, 

It richer dy'd the rose. 
The springing lilies sweetly press'd, 

Wild wanton kiss'd her rival breast ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blus'd, 

His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze, 

Her tender limbs embrace, 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

All harmony and grace. 
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 

A flatt'ring ardent kiss he stole : 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd he blush'd, 

And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake, 

On fear inspired wings ; 
So Nelly startling half awake, 

Away affrighted springs. 
But Willy follow'd as he should, 

He overtook her in the wood, 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 

Forgiving all and good. 

END OF THE SONGS, 



APPENDIX, 



HHHE posthumous fame of Burns is without parallel 
in the annals of poetry. Soon after his death, 
meetings were held in various parts of the British Em- 
pire, commemorative of his excellencies as a son of in- 
spiration. Among the earliest of the anniversaries 
that were celebrated in honour of his memory, was one 
which took place in the Cottage wherein he was born. 
The party was small. but select, and formed a most in- 
teresting group, from the circumstance of nearly one 
half of the company having their names associated 
with some of the most gratifying particulars in the Po- 
et's history. The meeting consisted of the following 
sincere fiiends and admirers of their far famed coun- 
tryman — 

William Crawford, Esq. of Doonside, by whose 
father the father of Burns had been employed in 
the capacity of a Gardener. 
John Ballantine, Esq. to whom Burns addressed 

the " Twa Brigs o' Ayr." 
Robert Aikin, Esq. to whom he dedicated " The 

Cottar's Saturday Night " 
Patrick Douglas, Esq. of Garallan, by whose in- 
terest he was to have obtained a situation in Ja- 
maica, had he followed out his intention of re- 
pairing to that Island. 
Primrose Kennedy, Esq. of Drumellan. 
Hew Fergusson, Esq. Barrack- master, Ayr. 
David Scott, Esq, Banker, Ayr, 



296 APPENDIX. 

Thomas Jackson, Esq. L. L. D. Professor of Na- 
tural Philosophy in the University of St. Andrews. 
The Rev. Hamilton Paul, who had been previous- 
ly solicited by Provost Ballantine, through the 
interposition of Captains Kennedy & Fergusson, 
to prepare a few verses suited to the occasion, 
and who has since written eighteen anniversary 
Odes, in commemoration of the Birth day of 
Burns, from which a few extracts are subjoined. 
The meeting above mentioned took place in 1801. 
The succeeding Festivals were honoured by the pre- 
sence of the most distinguished characters in the town 
and neighbourhood. An additional room was built to 
the end of the Cottage; but the numbers increased to 
such a degree, that they could not, without the utmost 
difficulty, be accommodated. At the several anniver- 
saries, the Odes were read by different Gentlemen. — 
That of 1805 was read by ^Major-General Sir Frede- 
rick Adam, at that time stationed with his regiment 
at Ayr. Some weak attempts have been made by nar- 
row minded men. to expose to ridicule this Burnoma' 
nia, as they term it ; but, like self-love converted by 
the plastic power of the Poet into social affection, it is 
spreading wider and wider every day. 

«* Friends, kindred, neighbours, first it doth embrace, 
Our country next, and next all human race." 

IRREGULAR ANNIVERSARY ODE, 

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS. 
Scene — The Cottage in which he was born. 

Here let me kneel and kiss the precious earth, 
For ever hallow'd by the Poet's birth. 

Where'er I look, around on grove or green, 
From this blest spot his magic gilds the scene : 
Here stands the Kirk, in which his wizard power, 
Conjur'd hobgoblins at the midnight hour ; 



APPENDIX. 297 

AndDoon in sweet meanders winds along, 

'Mid banks that bloom for ever in his song ; 

Thro' fairy scenes, there wnnders wood-crown'd Ayr, 

Scenes of his love, his musings, and his care. 

While rivers roll their torrents to the main, 
While dewy clouds refresh the thirsty plain, 
So long, sweet Bard, thy heavenly strains shall flow, 
Inspiring joy, or mitigating woe. 

While youthful Bards delight to strike the lyre, 
And pay their court with rapturous desire, 
To objects half infernal, half divine, 
Man's bane and bliss — to women, wit, and wine : 
So long thine amorous ditties shall be sung, 
And breathe enchantment from the virgin's tongue ; 



So long each tale of thine, each story droll, 



» 
Shall add new lustre to the sparkling bowl. 

You've heard the choristers of spring, 



Their dulcet throats attune, 
And far and wide responsive ring, 

The Braes o' bonnie Doon : 
And on the bushy banks of Ayr, 

You've heard the warbling throng, 
But none so witching, none so rare, 
None half-entitled to compare, 
With our sweet Robin's song. 

The mellow numbers, as they flow, 
Pour balm into the wounds of woe, 
Or bid the youthful fancy rove, 
To scenes of joy or haunts of love. 
Thus beams the friendly polar star, 
On midnight mariner from far, 
Whose wakeful and inquiring eye, 
Unceasing rambles o'er the sky, 
In quest of an unerring guide, 
To pilot him across the tide, 
And moor him safe from ocean's harms, 
Within his well beloved's arms. 

Ye trees, that crown the wat'ry glade, 
Ye birds, that chant the boughs among r 

Ye seem to wear a deeper shade, 
Ye seem to pour a sadder song. 

What tho' around the Poet's grave, 
The thistle spring, the long grass wave, 
The lowly bramble creep! 



98 APPENDIX. 

What though tbe church-yard's heaps among y 
In slow procession move along, 
The friends of genius and of song, 

To wonder and to weep ! 
Yet still around the Poet's tomb, 
The laurel evergreen shall bloom, 
Shall beautify his honour'd bust, 
And shade his consecrated dust. 

Ye sacred groves, ye silver streams 
That glitter to the sunny beams, 

Your lov'd retreats we choose : 
To sing of him who bids you show 
A brighter verdure, as you blow, 
A sweeter murmur, as you flow, 

In his enchanting muse. 
Ye woods that grace his Coila's plain, 
Ye bloom and fade, and bloom again, 
But in his deathless verse pourtray'd, 
Ye blossom never more to fade. 

Still Spring, with hyacinthine bell, 
Shall grace the green groves of Rozelle, 
And Summer, with bewitching smile, 
Bloom round the borders of Bellisle. 
And that lov'd stream, bless'd by his song, 

In soft meanders glide, 
The Braes of Allowa among 

Or woodlands of Doonside. 

Still honest men, and maidens fair, 
Shall tread the bonnie banks of Ayr,. 
And th' annual tributary lay, 
With willing hearts to him we'll pay, 

Whose ardent soul and polish'd mind\ 
Restor'd the purity of song 
(Degraded and debas'd so long) 

And love's soft dialect refin'd : 
Who bade the youthful Scottish swain 
Breathe from his soul a purer strain, 
Expressive of love's joy or woe, 
Than ever yet was heard to flow 
From shepherd on Arcadian plain ; 
Who taught the ruddy rural lass, 
When May-morn gems the dewy grass* 

As bending o'er her milking pail, 

To pour her soft notes on the gale — 



APPENDIX. 299 

Notes that a Vestal well might hear, 
And notes that would have charm'd the ear, 
And claim'd the sympathetic tear 
Of Petrarch in Vaucluse's vale ! 

Happy could I ascend on equal wing, 
And soaring hi*>h with equal vigour sing, 
Then Doon should roll more rapidly his floods 
Ayr more majestic wander thro' his woods. 

Beloved streams, where'er my footsteps roam, 
Your grateful murmurs seem to call me home ; 
By fancy led, I linger in your shades, 
And gaze enamour' d on your lovely maids- 
Review your palaces and wizard towers, 
And tread again your honeysuckle bowers — 

O, that the lovM Bard, ere his spirit was flown, 
Ere he bade a short life of misfortune adieu, 
Wide over my shoulders his mantle had thrown, 
Fd have breath'd a strain worthy of him and of you: 
But alas cold for ever's the soul kindling fire. 
Mute the tongue that could captivate, ravish, inspire* 
While the hands of the feeble awaken the lyre, 
And the Muses sigh out, " our adorers are few 1" 

Yet many a one, whose kindred soul, 

Glows with congenial fire, 
As years on years successive roll, 
Will, gathering round the mantling bowl, 

In ecstacy admire. 
That matchless magnitude of mind, 
That feeling heart, that taste refin'd, 

That self-taught art sublime, 
Which bid the Cottage tenant rise, 
Th' ennobled favourite of the skies, 
Whose heaven sent laurel crown defies 

The withering touch of time ! 

Where Caledonia's name is known, 
From Iceland to the burning Zone, 
Who that the witchery has tri'd, 
Of Coila's Lark, and Scotia's pride, 

As he depicts the rural scene, 
Tho' exil'd from his native home, 
Does not with ceaseless transport roam, 

'Mong groves of everlasting green ? 



300 APPENDIX. 

And where the Ganges' ocean stream 
Rolls, and reflects the morning beam, 
Or Niagara's waters play, 
And dance beneath the setting day, 

Reciin'd amid the bow'ry shade 
At gloaming grey or sultry noon, 

Who has not clasp'd his darling maid, 
By hermit Ayr or bonnie Doon? 
But chief, beneath his native shades, 
The ardent youths and love-sick maids, 
The feast of harmony prolong, 
And pour the very soul of song. 
Where nymphs and swains enamour' d stray, 
Along the fertile banks of Tay ; 
Or shepherds tune the Doric reed, 
And charm the holms of classic Tweed; 
Or roam Edina's virgin train, 
Where Forth meand'ring seeks the main ; 
Or Glotta's maids, with graceful pride, 
Adorn the verdant vale of Clyde ; 
There they attune their mellow throats 
And warble forth their chearful notes. 

But nothing can surpass the tune, 
That echoes from the braes of Doon : 
Nought with the music can compare, 
That floats along the banks of Ayr. 

Ye rivers that have roll'd your tide, 

Since time began to run, 
Whose waters will perennial glide, 

Coeval with the sun, 
When we shall yield, as yield we must, 
To fate, and mingle with the dust, 
On you shall future beauties bloom, 
And fresh flowers yearly shed perfume, 
And other Bards, profuse of praise, 
Delight your echoes with their lays, 
And other friends to merit fled 
Here pay due honours to the dead, 
And as they fan the gen'rous flame 
Immortalize the Poet's name ! — 



APPENDIX. 301 

The success of Burns, at that time unrivalled, 
awakened the ambition of a myriad of servile imitators, 
who conceived that a facility of versifying, and a knack 
at rhyming, formed the Poet, and constituted the es- 
sentials of poetry. They mistook ribaldry for wit, and 
vulgarity of language for the true Scottish dialect. — 
Few of them, therefore, attained to celebrity in the 
path which Burns had trode. But panegyrical effusions 
have proceeded from the pens of the most celebrated 
Poets of the age, for genius, taste, and originality. — 
Scarcely an author of eminence has appeared since the 
demise of the Poet, who has not paid a compliment to 
the merit of Burns. 

In one department of poetry, that of Song, the 
muse of Caledonia maintains a decided pre-eminence. 
What a brilliant constellation might be formed by 
clustering together the names of Burns, Campbell, 
Scott and Macniel, to which might be added those of 
Tannahill and the Etterick Shepherd, and giving the 
world a selection of their most admired songs ! 

I mean not to institute a comparison between Burns 
and these writers, in respect to their longer and more 
elaborate compositions, but merely to show the trans- 
cendency of his merit as a writer of songs — 

To Macniel we are indebted for some exquisite 
touches of nature, 

" Saw ye my wee thing, &c. 

***** 

I met a bonnie thing, late in the gloaming, 
Down by the burnie whare flow'rs the haw tree, 
Her hair it was lintwhite, her skin it was milkwhite, 
Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling e'e, 
Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses, 
Sweet were the kisses that she gae to me — 
»•*■#*** 

+ Zz 



302 APPENDIX. 

Fair as your face is, were't twenty times fairer, 
Young braggart she ne'er wad gie kisses to thee, &c* 



" The smile gaed affher bonnie face, 
a I maunna lea' my mammy, 
She's gien me meat, she's gien me claes, 
She's been my comfort a' my days, 
My father's death brought many waes, 
I canna lea' my mammy — " 

The Etterick Shepherd has given the world some 
diverting strains in the true style and spirit of the 
simple ballad, 

" If Buonaparte land at Fort- William, 

Auld Europe nae langer shall graDe ; 
I laugh when I think how we'll gall him, 

Wi' bullet, wi* steel, an' wi' stane ; 
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Gairie, 

We'll rattle him aff frae our shore, 
Or lull him asleep in a cairnie, 

And sing him, " Lochaber no more." 
" What tho' we befriended young Charlie? 

To tell it I dinna think shame, 
Poor lad ! he cam till us right barely, 

An' reckon'd our mountains his hame ; 
"Tis true that our reason forbade us, 

But tenderness carried the day, 
Had Geordie come friendless amang us, 

Wi' him we had a' gone away — * 

The latter stanza has been represented by critics as 
the best of the ballad — I am of a different opinion — It 
gives a false view of the Highland character. The 
Chieftains, at least, <4 befriendedyoung Charlie," because 
they regarded him as the representative of their legiti- 
mate Sovereign, and the heir apparent to the Crown.— 
Had any other " come friendless amang them,", they 
would not perhaps have maltreated him, but they 
would not have recognized bis claim to the support of 
their arms. 



APPENDIX. 305 

The great defect, or rather excess of those composi- 
tions, which are avowedly adapted to an unconstrained 
union with vocal or instrumental music, is prolixness 
No species of writing requires to be short and pithy so 
much as the song. In this respect that song of the 
Etterick Shepherd, though otherwise extremely 
beautiful, is exceedingly faulty — 

•• Sing on, sing on, my Iionnie bird, 
The sang ye sang yestreen o\ " 

A song of more than ordinary length is apt to be- 
come languid. Our Thomson, with all his melliflu- 
ence, was almost incapable of writing a song with en- 
ergy and pathos. There is a tameness in his language 
which will for ever exclude his lyrical compositions 
from any great share of popular applause. From this 
reprehension we must, however, except — 

" Rule Britannia," and " Tell me, thou soul of her I love." 

His friend Mallet was very happy in " The Birks 
of Invermay," — 

The smiling morn, the breathing spring, 

Invite the tuneful birds to sing, 

And while they warble from each spray, 

Love melts the universal lay ; 

Let us, Amanda, timely wise, 

Like them improve the hour that flies, 

And in soft raptures waste the day, 

Among the birks of Invermay. 

For soon the winter of the year, 
And age. life's winter, will appear ; 
At this thy living I loom will fade, 
As that will strip the verdant shade ; 
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er, 
The feather'd songsters are no more ; 
And when they droop, and we decay, 
Adiea the birks of Invermay. 

Z z 2 



304? APPENDIX. 

Mr. Boswell, in whose family, genius, wit, and 
taste, appear to be hereditary, but who writes rather 
as an amateur than a professed author, is remarkably 
happy in his courtship of the Comic Muse — 

" When first I went to her, on purpose to woo her, 
Of mighty fine things I did say a great deal, 
But above all the rest, that which plazed her best 
Was, och ! will you marry me, Shelah O'Neale V* 



I met four chaps yon birks amang, 
Wi' hinging lugs, an' faces lang, 
I spier'd at neelour BauMy Strang, 

" Wha's thae I see?'* 
Quo' he, " ilk cream- fac'd paukie chiel 
Thinks himsel cunning as the DeiJ, 
An' they are come awa to steal 

Jenny's taubee."— 



" She bade the Laird gae kaim his wig, 
The Lawyer no to be a prig, 
The Soldier no to look sae big, 

The fool he cried ' te-hee ' 
* I ken'd,' quo' he, ' I ne'er wad fail :' 
She preen'd the dish-clout till his tail, 
She cool'd him wi' the water-pail, 

An' sav'd her baubee." 

Tannahill was capable of accurate and natural 
description. 

" The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben-lomond, 
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene. 

****** 

** sweet is the brier wi' its saft faulding blossom, 
And sweet is the birk wi' its mantle o' green — " 

From Campbell the feeling heart and polished mind 
may derive ecstatic delight. Distress, though induced 



APPENDIX. 305 



by bein# engaged in an unjustifiable cause, is poeti- 
cally affecting — 

** Ah ! Gilderoy, bethought we then, 
So soon, so sad to part, 
"When first in Iloslin's lovely glen 
You triumph 'd o'er ray heart." 

" Yes — they will mock thy widow's tears, , 
And hate thine orphan boy, 
Alas ! his infant beauty wears 
The form of Gilderoy !" 

In Walter Scott's Ballad, entitled " Young 
Lochinvar,'' the following passage is eminently charac- 
teristic of the feelings called forth by the occasion — 

" So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace, 
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, 
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, ' 'Twere better by far, 
' To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

But I have scarcely met with any thing that sur- 
passed in tenderness the following, supposed to have 
been sung on the eve of a battle — 

" The heath this night must be my bed, 
The bracken curtain for my head, 
My lullaby the warder's tread, 

Far, far from love and thee, Mary. 

** To-morrow night more stilly laid, 
My couch may be my bloody plaid, 
My vesper song thy wail, sweet Maid, 
It will not waken me, Mary. 

*•' A time will come, with feeling fiaught, 
For if I fall in battle fought, 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought, 
Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 

Z z 3 



306 APPENDIX. 

" And if return'd from conquer'd foes, 
How blithely will the ev'ning close, 
How sweet the linnet sing repose 

To ray young bride and me, Mary ?*' 

The name Mary is a favourite with the Caledonian 
songsters. From Mary, Queen of Scots, to Mary 
Scott, the flower of Yarrow, it has maintained the as- 
cendant in the Scottish ballad. There is something 
musical in the enunciation, and it is excellently adapt- 
ed to the melody of a double rhyme. I am sorry to 
see this mellifluous dissyllable dashed out of Halloween. 
In the first Kilmarnock and Edinburgh editions the 
name Mary made a conspicuous appearance — 

FIRST EDITION. 

" Poor Willie, wi' his bowkail runt, 
Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, 
And Mari/, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie. 
Mall's nit lap out, &c." 

CURRIE's EDITION'. 

" Poor Willie, wi' his bowkail runt, 
Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, 
And Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Wiilie. 
Mall's nit lap out, &c." 

To a mere English reader, the beauty of the three- 
fold appellation is undiscernible ; and Dr. Currie hav- 
ing, as appears from a variety of blunders, almost for- 
gotten his vernacular tongue, has destroyed what to 
me is the principal charm in the stanza. I conceive 
Burns to have diversified the name with both wit and 
judgment. Mallie a bouncing country quean, Mary a 
lady, or one who gives herself airs as such, and Mall a 
female of the lowest rank, and when the passage is 
read with emphases suited to this view, the effect is 
admirable — 



appendix. 307 

" Poor Willie, wi' his bowkail runt, 
Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, 
And Mury, nae doubt, took the drunt 

To be compar'd to Willie. 
Mall's nit lap out, &c." 

The Poet, in my opinion, has, in the first instance, 
given the rural beauty the name by which she was 
usually designated — in the second instance, he calls her 
by a genteeler appellative, but ironically, on account of 
her sauciness — and in the third instance, he gives her 
a kind of nickname out of contempt for her pride. — 
Thus Mall, Mallie, and Mary, are exact counterparts to 
Will, Willie, and William. Though Mallie, therefore, 
could not, with propriety, object to being emblemati- 
cally burnt with Willie, yet the gentler Mary might ■ 
entertain her scruples. I hope to see Mary restored 
to her place in Halloween — and also the original text 
of some other passages, with which "Editors have taken 
liberties, restored. 

The writers, from whose songs I have given quota- 
tions above, have each his peculiar excellence- — one 
is master of the pathetic, another of the tender, a third 
is an adept in the plaintive, and a fourth is distinguish- 
ed by a happy vein of humour ; but in all these de- 
partments of lyrical composition, Burns was equally 
and eminently successful. To prove his unrivalled 
excellence in this walk of literature, we need only ap- 
peal to the writings themselves. For bold, heroic and 
patriotic sentiment, expressed in language of the most 
energetic description, is there any thing superior to 
the following? 

'* Lay the proud usurpers low, 
Tyrants fall in every foe, 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Let us do or die !" 



APPENDIX. 

'* Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark, 
Nor saves ev'n the wreck of a name ; 

Thou strik'st the young hero, a glorious mark, 
He falls in the blaze of his fame !" 



Love of country, freedom and independence, are 
the leading features of Caledonia — 

" The slave's spicy forests, and gold bubbling. fountains, 

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain : 
He wanders as free as the winds on his mountains, 

Save love's willing fetters, the chains of his Jean." 

The compliment to simple rural beauty and pure 
innocence, was never more felicitously expressed than 
in his panegyrics on Jean and Nannie — 

" I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air ; 
There's not a bonnie flow'r that springs, 

By fountain, shaw or green, 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings 

But minds me o' my Jean." 

* • • » » 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 

She's spotless as she's bonnie o'; 
The op'ning gowan wet wi' dew 

Nae purer is than Nannie o\" 

Absence was never better depicted than it is in 
these affecting strains — 

11 O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, 
That day I was my Willie's bride ! 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 



APPENDIX. 309 



Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye, 
And evening's tears are tears of joy, 
My soul delightless a' surveys, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.' 



" Thou lav'roek, that springs frae the dews o' the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis, that hails the night fa', 
Give over for pity, my Nannie's awa." 

For deep, heartfelt, and touching melancholy, there 
is nothing in any language to match this — 
" How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 
How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my deary ; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 
Was my sweet Highland Mary. 
****** 

** pale, pale, now those rosy lips, 
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly, 
And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance 

That dwalt on me sae kindly; 
And mould'ring now in silent dust, 

That heart that loe'd me dearly, 
Yet still within my bosom's core, 
Shall live my Highland Mary." 
- 

In sterling wit and genuine humour our Bard is 
irresistibily captivating — 

** But warily tent whan ye come to court me, 
And come na unless the back yett be a-jee, 
Syne up the back style, an' let naebody see, 
An' come as ye were na coming to me." 



310 APPENDIX. 

lt He spak o' the darts o' my bonnie black een> 
And said for ray love he was dieing, 
I said he might die whan he liked, for Jean, 
But guid forgie me for lieing." 

» * * * * 

u Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 

The place they ca'd it Linkumdoddie ; 
"Willie was a wabster guid, 

Could stown a clue wi' onie body." 



Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, 

And wi' her loof her face a-wasbing ; 

But Willie's wife is no sae trig,- 

She dights her grunzie wi' a bushion. 

Her walie nitves like midden creels, 
Her face wad fyle the Logan water." 



u They'd hae me wed a wealthy coof, 
Tho' I mysel h^e plenty, Tam, 
But hear'st thou, Laddie, there's my loof, 
I'm thine whan ane an' twenty, Tam." 

In convivial and bacchanalian effusions, the merit of 
Burns is superlative — 

" It is the moon, I ken her horn, 

That's blinking in the lift sae hie, 
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee !" 



" Their tricks and craft have put me daft, 
They've taen me in an' a' that, 
But clear your decks, an' here's the sex ! 
I like the jads for a' that." 

" Yestreen I had a pint o' wine — " 
is sweet but licentious. It is unnecessary to accumu- 
late proofs of Burns' leaving competition far far be- 



APPENDIX. 311 

hind. Many fine writers by too direct, minute and 

elaborate description, enfeeble the sentiment For 

instance — 

" The rising front by grandeur form'd, 

The graceful brow serene, 
The cheeks by health and nature warm'd, 

The lips of Cypria's Queen j 
The wavy ringlets of her hair 

In jetty blackness fine, 
Her skin most exquisitely fair, 

Her nose the aquiline— 
The heaving softness of her breast 

That trembling courts the touch, 
I strive to paint, but here I rest 

Lest I should paint too much !'* 

Even Allan Ramsay is too particular : 

" I'd clasp thee to this breast of mine, 
Whilst thou like ivy or the vine, 
Around my stronger limbs shouldst twine, 
Form'd hardy to defend thee — " 

But Burns's song adapted to the same air is — 
* above all Greek, above all Roman fame.'' There 
is nothing in the whole circle of lyric poetry, ancient 
or modern, to be named along with it — It bids de- 
fiance to comparison — 

" I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist saejimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — 
By Heaven and earth I love thee !" 

This is what may be called the paroxysm of desire — 
He draws the picture from Nature — he becomes en- 
amoured — he forgets himself — he pants for breath — he 
is unable to continue the description — and he gives 
utterance to his feelings in an oath — 
* By heaven and earth I tove ihee \" 



312 APPENDIX. 



FAREWELL TO THE ALLOWA CLUB, 

RECITED AT THE NINTH AN NI VERS ART, BEING THE LAST AT WHICH 
THE AUTHOR WAS PRESENT. 



Nine times the annual lyre I've strung, 
Nine times the Poet's praises sung ; 
Thus have the Muses all, by turns, 
Paid homage to the shade of Burns, 
While you, the Patrons of the Nine, 

Delighted, charm'd, enraptur'd, fir'd, 
By love of poesy and wine, 

Politely listen'd and admir'd ; 
But should my day be overcast, 
And this effusion prove my last, 
In words that oft have met your ear, 
" This last request permit me here ; 

W T hen yearly, ye assemble a', 
One round, I ask it with a tear, 

To him, the Bard, that's far awa' !" 



END OF THE APPENDIX. 



GLOSSARY. 



The ck and gh have always the guttural sound. The 
sound of the English diphthong oo, is commonly 
spelled ou. The French u, a sound which often oc- 
curs in the Scottish language, is marked oo, or ui. 
The a in genuine Scottish words, except when 
forming a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after 
a single consonant, sounds generally like the broad 
English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong ae, al- 
ways, and ea, very often, sound like the French e 
masculine. The Scottish diphthong ey sounds like 
the Latin ei. 



A 


- n', and, iff 


A', All 


I nee, once 


Aback, axvay, aloof 


Ane, one. and 


Abeigh. at a sh,/ distance 


Anent, over against 
Anither, another 


Aboon, above, up 


Abread, abroad, in sight 


Ase. ashes 


Abreed, in breadth 


Asklent, asquint, aslant 


Ae, one 


A steer, abroad, stirring 


AfF, off ; ArF loof, unpre- 


\thart, athwart 


meditated 


Aught, possession, as, in 


Afore, before 


a* my aught, in all my 


Aft, oft' 


possession 


A ft en, often 


Auld Jang syne, olden 


Agley, off the right line, 


time, days of other years 


wrong 


Auld, old 


Aiblins, perhaps 


Auldfarran, or auld far- 


Ain, own 


rant, sagacious, cunning. 


Airl-penny, earnest-money 


prudent 


Aim, iron 


Ava, at all 


Aith, an oaih 


Awa* away 


Aits, oats 


Awfu', awful 


Aiver, an old horse 


Awn, the beard of barley > 


Aizle, a hot cinder 


oats, fyc. 


Alake, alas J 


Awnie, bearded 


Alane, alone 


Ayont, beyond 


Akwart, awkward 


B. 


Amaist, almost 


Ba', Ball 


Amang, amon'g 


Backets, ash boards 




f Cc 



GLOSSARY. 



Backlins, comin*, coming 

back, returning 
Bad, did bid 
Baide, endured, did stay 
Baggie, the belly 
Bainie, having large bones, 

stout 
Bairn, a child 
Bairntime, a family of 

children, a brood 
Baith, both 
Ban, to sxvear 
Bane, bone 

Bang, to beat, to strive 
Bardie, diminutive of bard 
Barefit, barefooted 
Barmie, of or like barm 
Batch, a crew, a ga?ig 
Batts, bolts 
Baudrons, a cat 
Bauld, bold 
Baw.k, bank 
Baws'nt, having a white 

stripe down the face 
Be, to let be, to give over, 

to cease 
Bear, barley 
Beastie, dimin. of beast 
Beet, to add fuel to fire 
Beld, bald 
Belyve, by and by 
Ben, into the 

lour 

Benlomond, a noted moun- 
tain in Dumbartonshire 
Bethankit, grace after 

meat 
Beuk, a book 
Bicker, a kind of wooden 

dish, a short race 
Bie, or Bield, shelter 
Bien, wealthy, plentiful 
Big, to build 
Biggin, building a house 
. Biggit, built 



he spence orpar- 



Bill, a bull 

Billie, a brother, a young 

fellow 

Bing, a heap of grain, po- 
tatoes, &c. 

Birk, birch 

Birken-shaw, Birchen- 
wood-shaw, a small wood 

Birkie, a clever fellow 

Birring, the noise of par- 
tridges, fyc. ivhen they 
spring 

Bit, crisis, nick of time 

Bizz, a bustle, to buzz 

Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf 
a term of contempt 

Blastit, blasted 

Blate, bashful, sheepish 

Blather, bladder 

Blaud, a flat piece of any 
thing ; to slap 

Blaw, to blow, to boast 

Bleerit, bleared, sore with 
rheum 

Bleert and blin, bleared 
and blind 

Bleezing, blazing 

Blellum, idle talking fellow 

Blether, to talk idly, non- 
sense 

Bleth'rin, talking idly 

Blink, a little while, a 
smiling look, to look kind- 
ly, to shine by fits 

Blinker, a term of contempt 

Blinkin, smirkin 

Blue-gown, one of those 
beggars who get annually, 
on the king's birth-day, a 
blue cloak or gown, ivith 
a badge 

Bluid, blood 

Bluntie, snivelling 

Blype, a shred, a large 
piece 



GLOSSARY 

Bock, to vomit, to gush in- 
termittently 

Bocked, gushed, vomited 

Bodle, a small gold coin 

Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins 

Bonnie or bonny, hand- 
some, beautiful 

Bonnock, a kind of thick 
cake of bread, a small 

jannack, or loaf made of 
oatmeal 

Board, a board 

Boortree, the shrub elder ; 
planted much of old in 
hedges of barn-yards, fyc. 

T3oost, behoved, must needs 

Bore, a hole in the wall 

Botch, an angry tumour 

Bouk, vomiting, gushing out 

Bousing, drinking 

Bow-kail, cabbage 

Bowt, bended, crooked 

Brachens )t /errc 

Brae, a declivity, a preci- 
pice, the slope of a hill 



Braid, abroad 

Braik, a kind of harrow 

Braing't, reel 'd forward 

Brainge, to run rashly 

forward 

B»*ak, broke, made insolvent 

Branks, a kind of wooden 

curb for horses 
Brash, a sudden illness 
Brats, coarse clothes, rags 
Brattle, a short race, hurry, 

fury 

¥>m\\,jine, handsome 
Brawlyt, or brawiie, very 

well, finely, heartily 
Braxie, a morbid sheep 
Breastie, diminutive of 

breast 
Breastit, did spring up or 

forward 



Brecken,jtero 

Breef, an invulnerable or 
irresistible spell 

Breeks, breeches 

Brent, smooth 

Brewin, brewing 

Brie, juice, liquid 

Brig, a bridge 

Brunstane, brimstone 

Brisket, breast, the bosom 

Brither, a bi other 

Brock, a badger 

Brogue, a hum, a trick 

Broo, broth, liquid, water 

Broose, broth ; a race at 
country weddings, who 
shall 'first reach the bride- 
gr'oom's house on return* 
ingfrom church 

Bruah, a burgh 

Bruilzie, a broil a combus* 
tion 

Brunt, did burn, burnt 

Brust. to burst, burst 

Buchan-bullers, the boil- 
ing of the sea among the 
rocks on the coast of 
Buchan 

Buckskin, an inhabitant of 
Virginia 

Bught, a pen 

Bughtin-time, the time of 
collecting the sheep in the 
pens to be milked 

bu^idly, stout-made, broad- 
made 

Bum-clock, a humming 
beetle thatfiec, in the sum- 
mer evenings 

Bumming, humming as bees 

Bunomle, to blunder 

Bummler, a blunderer 

Bunker, a window-seat 

Burdies, diminutive of 
birds 
C c 2 



GLOSSARY. 



Bure, did bear 

Burn, water, a rivulet 

Burnie, dimin of burn 

Burnewin, i. e. burn the 
wind, a blacksmith 

Buskie. bushy 

Buskit, dressed 

Busks, dresses 

Busle, a bustle, to bustle 

Buss, shelter 

But. bot, with 

But an* ben, the country 
kitchen and parlour 

By- himself, lunatic, dis- 
tracted 

Byke, a bee-hive 

Byre, a cow-stable, a sheep- 
pen 

C. 

Ca', to call, to name, to 
drive 

Ca't or ca'd, called, driven, 
calved. 

Cadger, a carrier 

Cadie, or caddie, a per- 
son, a ijoung fellow 

Caff, chaff 

Caird, a tinker 

Cairn, a loose heap of 
stones 

Calf ward, a small enclo- 
sure for calves 

Callan. a boy 

Callar, fresh, sound, re- 
freshing 

Canie or cannie, gentle, 
mild, dexterous 

Cannilie, dexterously, gently 

Cantie, or canty, cheerjul, 
merry 

Cantraip, a charm, a spell 

Cap-stane, cope-stone, key- 
stone 

Careerin, cheerfully 

Carl, an old man 



Carlin, a stout old woman 

Cartes, cards 

Caudron, a caldron 

Cauk and keel, chalk and 
red clay 

Cauld cold 

Caup, a wooden drinking- 
vessel 

Cesses, taxes 

Chanter, apart of a bag- 
pipe 

Chap, a person, a fellow, a 
blow 

Chaup, a stroke, a blow 

Cheekit, cheeked 

Cheep, a chirp, to chirp 

Chiel, or cheel, a young 

fellow 

Chimla, or chimlie, afire* 
grate, afire-place 

Chimla lug, the fireside 

Chittering, shivering, trem- 
bling 

Chockin. choking 

Chow, to chew ; cheek for 
chow, side by side 

Chuffie, fat-faced 

Clachan, a small village a- 
bout a church, a hamlet 

Claise, or claes, clothes 

Claith, cloth 

Claithing, clothing 

Claivers, nonsense, not 
speaking sense 

Clap, clapper of a mill 

Clarkit, icrote 

Clash, an idle tale, the sto- 
ry of the day 

Clatter, to tell little idle sto- 
ries; an idle story 

C'aught, snatched at> laid 
hold of 

Claut, to clean, to scrape 

Clauted, scraped 

Clavers, idle stories 



GLOSS 

Claw, to scratch 

Cleed, to clothe 

Cleeds, clothes 

Cleekit, having caught 

Clinkin, jerking, clinking 

Clinkumbell, who rings the 
church bell 

Clips, sheers 

Clishmaclaver, idle conver- 
sation 

Clock, to hatch, a beetle 

Clockin, hatching 

Cloot, tJie hoof of a cow, 
sheep, &c. 

Clootie, an old name for 
the Devil 

Clour, a bump or smelling 
after a blow 

Cluds, clouds 

Coaxin, wheedling 

Coble, a fishing boat 

Cockernonny, a lock of hair 
tied upon a girl's head ; a 
cap 

Coft, bought 

Cog, a wooden dish 

Coggie, dim-in. of cog 

Coila, from Kyle, a. district 
of Ayrshire, so called, 
saith tradition, from Coil, 
or Coilus, a Pictish mo- 
narch 

Collie, a general, and some- 
times a particular, name 
for country curs 

Collieshangie, quarrelling 

Commaun, command 

Cood, the cud 

Coof, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cookit, appeared, and dis- 
appeared by jits 

Coost, did cadt 

Coot, the ankle or foot 

Cootie, a wooden kitchen 
dish* — also those fowls, 



ARY. 

whose legs are clad with 
feathers, are said to be 
coolie 

Corbies, a species of the 
crow 

Core, corps, party, clan 

Corn't, fed with oats 

Cottar, the inhabitant qf& 
cot-house, or cottage 

Couthie, kind, loving 

Cove, a cove 

Cowe, to terrify, to keep 
under, to lop ; a fright ; 
a branch of furze, broom 

Cowp, to barter, to tumble 
over, a gang* 

Cowpit, tumbled 

Cowrin, cowering 

Cowte, a colt 

Cozie, snug 

Cozily, snugly 

Crabbit, crabbed, fretful 

Crack, conversation, to con* 
verse 

Crackin, cowed 

Craft, or croft, ajield ...car 
a house (in old husbandry) 

Craiks, cries or calls inces- 
santly, a bird 

Crambo-clink, or crambo- 
jingle, rhymes, doggrel 
verses 

Crank, the noise of an un- 
greased wheel 

Or&rikoirs, fretful, captious 

Cranreuch, the hoarj/ort 

Crap, a crop, to crop 

Craw, a crow of a cock, a 
rook 

Creel, a basket ; to have 
one's wits in a creel, to 
be craz'd, to befascinated 

Creeshie, greasy 

Ciood, 01 croud, tvtooas 
xi dove 



GLOSSARY 

Croon, a hollotu and conti- 
nued moan ; to make a 
noise like the continued 
roar of a bull; to hum 
a tune 

Crooning, humming 



Crouchie, crook-backed 

Crouse, cheerful, courageous 

Crousely, cheerfully, cou- 
rageously 

Crowdie, a composition of 
oatmeal and boiled water, 
sometimes from the broth 
of beef, mutton, §c 

Crowdie-time, breakfast- 
time 

Croulin, crawling 

Crummock, a cow with 
crooked horns 

Crump, hard and brittle ; 
spoken of bread 

Crunt, a bloiv on the head 
ivith a cudgel 

Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cummock, a short staff 
with a ci ooked head 

Curchie, a curtesy 

Curler, a player at a game 
on the ice, practised in 
Scotland, called curling 

Curlie, curled, whose hair 
falls naturally in > i aglets 

Curling, a well known game 
on the ice 

Curmurring, murmuring, a 
slight rumbling noise 

Curpm, the crupper 

Cushat, the dove, or wood- 
pigeon 

Cutty, short, a spoon bro- 
ken in the middle 

D. 

"Daddie, a father 
-Daffin, men imen t, foolish ■ 



ness 
Daft, merry, giddy, foolish 
Daimen, rare, now and 

then ; daimen-icker, an 

ear of corn now and then 
Dainty, pleasant, good hu- 
moured, agreeable 
Dales, plains, valleys 
Darklins, darklin 
Daud, to thrash, to abuse 
Daud, (noun) a la?ge piece, 

the noise of one falling 
fiat 
Daur, to dare 
Daurt, da' id 
Daurg, or daurk, a days 

labour 
Davoe, David 
Dawtir, or dawtet, fondled, 

caressed 
Dearies, dimin. of dears 
Dearthfu', dear 
Deavc, to deafen 
Deil-nia-care ! no matter ! 

for all that i 
Deieerit, delirious 
Descxive, to describe 
Dight, to wipe, to clean 

corn from chaff' 
Dight, cleanedfrom chaff 
Dights, c cans 
Ding, ton - st, io push 
Dinna, do 
Dirl, a slight tremulous 

stroke or pain 
Dir.zen, or diz'n, a dozen 
Doited, stup.if.ed 
Dolt, stupified, crazed 
Donsie, urn 
Dool, sorrow; to sing dool, 

to lament, to mourn 
Doos, doves 
Dorty, saucy, nice 
Douce, or douse, sober, 

wise, prudent 



GLOSSARY. 



Doucely, soberly, prudently 
Dought, was or were able 
Do up, backside 
Poup-skelper, one that 

strikes the tail 
Dour and din, sullen, sallow 
Doure, stout, durable, sul- 
len, stubborn 
Douser, more prudent 
Dow, am or are able, can. 
Dowff, pithless, warding 

force 
Dovvie, worn with grief, 

fatigue Sec. half asleep 
Downa, am or are not able, 

cannot 
Doylt, stupid 
Drap, a drop, to drop 
D rapping, dropping 
Dreep, to ooze, to drop 
Dreigh, tedious, long about it 
Dribble, drizzling, slaver 
Drift, a drove 

Droddum, the breech 

Drone, part of a bagpipe 

Droop, rumpPt, that droops 
at the crupper 

Droukit, v:ct 

Drounting, drawling 

Drouth, thirst, drought 

Drucken, drunken 

Drumty, muddy 

Drummock, meal and water 
mixed; raw 

Drunt, pet, sour humour 

Dub, a small pond 

Duds, rags, clothes 

Duddie, ragged 

Dung, worsted^ pushed, 
driven 

Dunted, beaten, boxed 

Dush, to push as a ram, Sec, 

Dush't, pushed by a ram, ox, 



E'e, the eye 

E'en, the eyes 

E'enin, evening 

Eerie frighted, dreading 

spirits 
Eiid, old age 
Elbuck, the elbow 
Eldritch, ghastly, frightful 
Ea', end 

Enbrugh, Edinburgh 
Eneugh, enough 
Especial, especially 
Ettle, to try, attempt 
Eydent, diligent 

F 

Fa', fall, lot, waterfall 

Faddom't, Jatliomed 

Fae, a foe 

Faen, foam 

Faiket, unknown 

Fair in, a fairin, a. present 

Fallow, fellow 

Fand, did find 

Farl, a cake of bread 

Fash, trouble, care, to trou- 
ble, to care for 

Fasht, troubled 

Fastereen-een, Fastens- 
Even 

t'auld. a fold, to fold 

Fauldiag, folding 

Faut, fault 

Fawsoiit, decent, seemly 

Feal, afield, smooth 

Fearfu', frightful 

F 'ear 5 't, frighted 

Feat, neat, spruce 

Fecht, to fight 

Fechtin, fighting 

Feck, many, plenty 

Fecket, waistcoat 

FeckfV, large, brawny, 
Uout 



GLOSSARY. 



Feckless, puny, weak, silly 

Feckly, weakly 

Feg, a jig 

Feide, feud, enmity 

Fell, keen, biting ; thejlesh 

immediately under the 

skin ; afield pretty level, 

on the side or top of a hill 
Fen, successful struggle, 

fi'^ht 
Fend, to live comfortably 
Ferlie, orferley, towonder; 

a wonder; a term of con- 

tempt 
Fetch, to pull by fits 
Fech't, pulled intermittently 
Fidge, tofidget 
Fiel, soft, smooth 
Fient, fiend, a petty oath 
Fier, sound, healthy ; a 

brother, a friend 
Fisle, to make a rustling 

noise, tofidget, a bustle 
Fit, afoot 
Fittie-lan, the nearer horse 

of the hindmost pair in 

the plough 
Fizz, to make a hissing 

noise, like fermentation 
Flainen, fan nel 
Fleecii, to supplicate in a 

flattering manner 
Fleech'd, supplicated 
Fl eech in , supplicating 
Fieesb, ajhece 
Fleg, a kick, a random UuW 
FJether, to dexoy by fair 

too) ds 
Fletherin, flattering 
F'ey. to sea/ e, tojrighten 
Flichter, to flutter, as young 

nestlings, when their dam 

approaches 
Flickering, to meet, to en- 
counter vcith 



Flinders; sherds, broken 
pieces 

Flingin-tree, a piece of 
timber hung by way of 
partition between two 
horses in a stable ; ajlail 

Flisk, to fret at the yoke 

YWsVit, fretted 

Flitter, to vibrate like the 
the "wings of small birds 

Flittering, fluttering, vi- 
brating 

Flunkie, a servant in livery 

Foord, a ford 

Forbears, forefathers 

Forbye, besides 

Forfairn, distressed, worn 
out, jaded 

Forfoughten, fatigued 

Forgather, to meet, to en* 
counter with 

Forgie, to forgive 

Forjesket, jaded with fa- 
tigue 

F 'other, fodder 

You', full, drunk 

Foughten, troubled, ha- 
rassed 

Fouth, plenty, enough, or 
more than enough 

Fow, a bushel, §c. ; also 
a pitchfork 

Frae, from 

Treath,ficth 

Frien*, frit nd 

¥u\J 

Fud, the scut or tail of the 
hare, coney, 

Fuff. to bliwjntermitently 

Fufi't, did blow 

Ymmiv, full of merriment 

Fur, a furrow 

Furm, a form, bench 

Fyke, trifling cares ; to 
piddle, to be in a fuss 



GLOSSARY. 



about trifles 
Fyle, to soil, to dirty 
Fyl't, soiled, dirted 

G. 

Gab, the mouth ; to speak 
boldly, or pertly 

Gaber-lunzie, an old man 

Gadsman, plough boy, the 
boy that rides the horses 
in the plough 

Gae, to go ; gaed, went ; 
gaen, or gane, gone; 
gaun, going 

Gaet, or gate, way, man- 
ner, road 

Gang, to go, to walk 

Gar, to make, to force to 

Gar't, forced to 

Garten, a garter 

Gash, wise, sagacious, talk- 
ative, to converse 

Gashin, conversing 

Gaucy, jolly, large 

Gawky, half-witted, fool- 
ish, romping 

Gear, riches, goods of any 
kind ■ 

Geek, to toss the head in 
wantonness or scorn 

Ged, a pike 

Gentles, great folks 

Geordie, a guinea 

Get, a child, a young one 

Ghaist, a ghost 

Gie, to give ; gied, gave ; 
gien, given 

Giftie, dimin. of gift 

Giglets, playful girls 

Gillie, dimin. of gill 

Gilpey, a half grown, half 
informed boy or girl, a 
romping lad, a hoiden 

Gimmer. an ewe from one 
to two years old 



Gin, if, against 
Gipsey, a young girl 
Girn, to grin, to twist the 
features in rage, agony 
Girning, grinning^ 
Gizz, a periwig 
Glaikit, inattentive, foolish 
Glaive, a sword 
Glaizie, glittering, smooth 

like a glass 
Glaund, aimed, snatched 
Gleck, sharp, ready 
Gleg, sharp, ready 
Gleib, glebe 
Glen, dale, deep valley 
Gley, a squint, to squint ; 

a gl e y> off at a side, 

wrong 
Glib-gabbet, that speaks 

smoothly and readily 
Glint, to peep 
Glinted, peeped 
Gl in-tin, peeping 
Gloamin, the twilight 
Glowr, to stare, to look, a 

stare, a look 
Glowred, looked, stared 
Gowan, the fiower of the 

daisy, dandelion, hawk- 
weed, fyc. 
Govvany, gowany glens, 

daisied, dales 
Gowd, gold 
Govvff, the game of Golf; 

to strike as the bat does 

the ball at golf 
GowfPd, struck 
Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of 

contempt 
Gowl, to howl 
Grane or grain, a groan, 

to groan 
Grain'd and gaunted, 

groaned and grunted. 
Graining, groaning 



GLOSSARY 



Graip, a pronged instru- 

merit for cleaning Stables 
Graith, accoutrements, jur- 

niture, dress, gear 
Grannie, grandmother 
Grape, to grope 
Graph, groped 
Grat, wept, shed tears 
Great, intimate, familiar 
Gree, to agree; to bear 

the gree, to be decidedly 

victor 
Gree't, agreed 
Greet, to shed tears, to 

■weep 
Greetin, crying, weeping 
G rippet, catched, seized 
Groat, to get the whistle 

of one's groat, to play a 

losing game 
Grousome, loathsomely 

grim 
Grozet, a gooseberry 
Grumph, a grant, to grunt 
Grumphie, a sow 
Grun\ ground 
Grunstane, a grindstone 
Gruntle the phiz, a grunt- 
ing noise 
Grunzie, mouth 
Grushie, thick, of thriving 

growth 
Gude, ihe Supreme Being; 

good 
Guid, good 

Guid-morning, good morrow 
Guid-e'en. good evening 
Guidman and guidwife, 

ihe master and mi 

of the house ; young 

guidman, a man i 

married 
Gully, or gullie, a large 

knife 
Guitiiather, ggudmother, - 



father-in-law, and mother- 
in-law 
Gumiie, muddy 
Gusty, tasteful 

H. 
Ha', hall 
Ha' bible, the great bible 

that lies in the hall 
Hae, to have 
Haen, had, the participle 
Haet, fient haet, a petty 

oath of negation ; nothing 
Haffet, the temple, the side 

of the head 
Hafflins, nearly half partly 
Hag, a scar, or gulf in 

mosses, and moors 
Haggis, a kind of pudding 

boiled in the stomach qf 

a cow or sheep 
Hain, to spare, to save 
Hain'd, spared 
Hairst, harvest 
Haith, a petty oath 
Haivers, nonsense , speak- 

ing without thought 
Hal*, or bald, an abiding 

place 
Hale, whole, tight, healthy 
Haly, holy 
Hanie, home 
Hallan, a particular parti- 

tion-zcall in a cottage, or 

more properly a seat of 

titifat the outside 
Hallo win as, Hcdlow-cve, 

the Slst of October 
Hamebfc homely, affable 
Han', or haun', hand 
Hap, an outer garment, 

mantle, plaid, S\C. to 

wrap, to cover, to hap 
Happer, a hopper 
Happing, hopping 



GLOSSARY. 



Hap step an* loup, hop 

skip and leap 

Harkit, hearkened 

Harn. very coarse linen 

Hash a fellow that neither 
knows how to dress nor 
act with propriety 

Hastit, hastened 

Haud to hold 

Hau^hs, now lying, rich 
lands ; valleys 

Haurl, to drag, to peel 

Haurlin, peeling 

Haveral, a ha f witted per- 
son, h^fwitted 

Havins, good manners de- 
corum, good sen <e 

Hawkie, a coiv, properly 
one with a white face 

Heapit, heaped 

Healsome, healthful, whole- 
some 

Hearse, hoarse 

Hear't hear it 

Heather, heath 

Hech ! oh ! strange 

Hecht, promscd tofortell 
Something that is to be 
got or given ; foretold ; 
offered 

Heckle, a board, in which 
are fixed a number of 
sharp pins, used in dress- 
ing hemp, fax. Sfc. 

Heeze, to elevate, to raise 

Helm, the rudder or helm 

Herd, to tend flocks, one 
who tends flocks 

Herrin, a herring 

Herry, to plunder ; most 
properly to plunder birds* 
nests 

Herryment, plundering, de- 
vastation 
Hers el, herself; also a herd 



of cattle of any sort 
Het, hot 

Heugh, a crag, a conl-pit 
Hilch, a hobble, to halt 
Hilchin halting 
Hinnsel, himself 
Hiney, honey 
Hing, to ha».g 
Hirple, to ivalk crazily, to 

creep 
Hissel, so many catih as 

one person can atte d 
Histie, dry chavt. barren 
Hicht, a loop, a knot 
Hizzie hussy, a young ^irl 
Hoddin, the motion of a 
sage countryman rising 
on a cart-horse; humble 
Hog-score, a kind of dis- 
tance line, in curling, 
drawn across the rink 
Hog-shouther, a kind of 
horse play- by justling 
with the shoulder ; to 
justle 
Hool. outer skin or case a 

nut-shell, pease-swade 
Hoolie, slowly, leisurely 
Hoolie ! take leisure, stop 
Hoord, a hoard', to hoard 
Hoordit, hoarded 
Horn, ^ spoon made nfhorn 
Hornie, one of the many 

names of the devil 
Host or hoast, to cough 
Hostin, coughing 
Hosts, coughs 
HotchM, turn'd topsy-tur- 
vy, blended, mixed 
Houghmagandie, fornica- 

ti n 
Houlet, an owl 
Housie, dimin. of house 
Hove, to heave, to swell 
Hov'd, heaved, swelled 



GLOSSARY. 



Howdie, a midwife 
Howe, hollow, a hollow or 

dell 
Howebackit, sunk in the 

back, spoken of a horse, 

&c 
Howff, a landlady, a house 
Howk, to dig 
Hovvkit digged 
Howkin, digging 
Hoy, to urge 
Hoy't, urged 
Hoyse. a pull upwards 
Hoyte, to amble crazdy 
Hughoc, dimin. of Hugh 
Rurcheon, a hedgr-hog 
Hurdies, the loins, the 

crupper 
Hushion, cushion 



1% in 

Icker, an car of corn 
Ier-oe. a ^r at-^i and-child 
Ilk, or ilka, each., eve y 
IU-willie, ill-natured, mali- 
cious, nigga> 'ly 
Ingine, genius, ingenuity 
Ingle, Jire,Jire- t lace 
Ise, / shall or will 
Ither, other, one another 

J. 

J ad, jade; also a familiar 
term among countryfolks 
for a giddy young girl 
Jauk, to dally, to tiifie 
Jaukin, trifling dallying 
Jaup, a jerk of water ; to 

jerk as agitat d water 
Jaw, coarse raillery, to pour 
out, to shut, to jerk as 
water 
Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl 
Jimp, to jump, slender in 



the waist, handsome 
Jink, to dodge, to turn c 

corner, a sudden turning 

a corner 
Jinker that turns quickly, 

a gay sprightly girl, a 

wag 
Jin kin. dodging 
Jirk ; a jerk 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife 
Jouk, to stoop, to bow the 

head 
Jow, to jow, a verb which 

includes both the swing' 

ing motion and pealing 

sound of a large bell 
Jundie, tojustle 

Kae. a daw 

Kail, colewart, a kind of 

broth 

Kaii-runt. the stem of cole- 
wort 
Kain : fo /?, fyc. paid as 

rent by a farmer 
Kebbuck. a cheese 
Keek, a peep, to peep 
Kelpies, a sort of mischiev- 
ous spirits, said to haunt 
fords and ferries at night, 
especially in storms 
Ken, to know ; Kend, or 

Ven't, knew 
Kennin, a small matter 
Kenspeckle, well knoivn 
Ket, matted, hairy, a fleece 

of wool 
Kiaugh, corking anxiety 
Kilt, to truss up the clothes 
Kimmer, a young girl, a 

gossip 
Kin', kindred 
Kin', kind 

Kintra Cooser, country 
stallion 



, 



GLOSSARY. 



King's-hood, a certain 
part of the entrails of an 

OX, SfC 

Kintra, country 

Kirn, the harvest supper, 

a churn. 
Kir sen, to christen, or 

baptize 
Kist, chest, a shop counter 
Kitchen, any thing that 

eats with bread, to serve 
for soup, gravy, fyc. 
Kith, kindred 
Kittle, to tickle, ticklish, 

likely 
Kittlin, a young cat 
Kiuttle, to cuddle 
Kiuttlin, cuddling 
Knaggie, like knags, or 

points of rocks 
Knappin, a hammer, a 

hammer for breaking 

stones. 
Know e, a small round hil- 
lock 
Knurl, dwarf 
Kye, cows 

Kyle, a district in Air shire 
Kyte, the belly 
Kythe, to discover, to shew 

one's-self 



Laddie, dimin. of lad 
Laggan, the angle between 
the side and bottom of a 
wooden dish 
Laigh, low 

Lairing, wading, and sink- 
ing in snow, mud, $c. 
LaithfV, bashful, sheepish 
Lallans, Scottish dialect 
Lambie, dimin. of lamb 
Lampit, a kind of shellfish 
t 



Lan', land, estate 

Lane, lone ; my lane, thy 

lane, Sfc. myself alone 
Lanely, lonely 
Lang, long ; to think lang, 

to long, to weary 
Lap, did leap 
Lave, the rest, the remain- 
der, the others 
Laverock, the lark 
Lawin, shot, reckoning, bill 
Lawlan, lowland 
Lea'e, to leave 
Leal, loyal, true, faithful 
Lea-rig, grassy ridge 
Lear, (pronoun) lare, 

learning 
Lee-lang, live-long 
Leesome, pleasant 
Leeze-me, a phrase of con- 

gratid at ory endearment ; 

I am happy in thee, or 

proud of thee 
Leister, a three-pronged 

dart for striking fsh 
Leugh, did laugh 
Leuk, a look, to look 
Libbet, gelded 
Lift, sky 

Lightly, sneering, to sneer at 
Lilt, a ballad, a tune- to sing 
Limmer, a kept mistress, a 

strumpet 
Limp't, limped, hobbled 
Link, to trip along 
Linkin, tripping 
Linn, a waterfall, precipice 
\Ant,flax ; lint i* the bell, 

flax in flower 
Lint white, a linnet 
Loan, or loanin, the place 

of milking 
Loof, the palm of the hand 
Loot, did let 
D d 



Looves, plural, of I oof 
Loun, a feUow, a raga- 
muffin, a woman of easy 

virtue 
"Loup, jump, leap 
Lowe, ajlame 
Lowrie, abbreviation of 

Lawrence 
Lowes, to loose 
Lows'd, loosed 
Log, the ear, a handle 
Lugget, having a handle 
Luggie, a s?nall wooden 

dish "with u handle 
Lum, the chimney 
Lunch, a large piece of 

cheese, flesh, fyc* 
Lunt, a column of smoke ; 

to smoke 
Luntin, smoking 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, 

grey 



M. 

Mae, more 

Mair, more 

Maist, most, almost 

Maistly, mostly 

Mak, to make 

Makin, making 

Mailen^arw 

Mallie, Molly 

Mang, among 

Manse, the parsonage- 
house, where the mini- 
ster lives 

Manteete, a mantle 

Mark, marks (This and 
several other nouns 
which in English re- 
quire an s to form the 
plural, are in Scotch, 
like the words sheep, 
deer, the same in both 
numbers.) 



GLOSSARY. 

Mar's year, the year 1715 

Mashlum, meslin, mixed 
corn 

Mask, to mash, as malt, fyc 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot 

Maukin, a hare 

Maun, must 

Mavis, the thrush 

Maw, to mow 

Mawin, mowing 

Meere, Mare 

Meickle, much 

Melancholious, mournful 

Melder, corn, or grain of 
any kind, sent to the mill 
to be ground 

Mell, to meddle, also a 
mallet for pounding bar- 
ley in a stone trough. 

Melvie, to soil with meal 

Men', to mend 

Mense, good manners, de- 
corum 

Menseless, ill-bred, rude, 
impudent 

Messin, a small dog 

Midden, a dunghill 

Midden-hole, a gutter at 
the bottom of a dunghill 

Mini, prim, affectedly meek 

Min', mind, resemblance 

Mind't, mind it, resolved, 
intending 

Minnie, mother, dam 

Mirk, mirkest, dark, dark- 
est 

Misca', to abuse, to call 
names 

Misca'd, abused 

Mislear'd, mischievous, un- 
mannerly 

Misteuk, mistook 

Mither, a mother 

Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly 
mixed 



GLOSSARY. 



Moistify, to moisten 
Mony or monie, many 
Moop, to nibble as a sheep 
Moorlan', of or belonging 

to moors 
Morn, the next day, to- 
morrow 
Mou, the mouth 
Moudiwort, a mole 
Mousie, dimin. of mouse 
Muckle or mickle, great, 

big, much 
Musie, dimin, of muse 
Muslin-kail, broth compos- 
ed simply of water, shell- 
ed barley, and greens 
Mutchkin, an English pint 
Mysel, myself 

N. 

Na', no, not, nor 

Nae, no, not any 

Naething, or naithing, no- 
thing 

Naig, ahorse 

Nane, none 

Nappy, ale, to be tipsy 

Negleckit, neglected 

Neebor, a neighbour 

Neuk, nook, 

Niest, next 

Nieve, the fist 

NievetV, handful 

Niffer, an exchange ; to ex- 
change, to barter 

Niger, a negro 

Nme-tailed-cat, a hang- 
man's whip 

N t, a nut 

Nonand, of or belonging 
to the north 

Notic't, noticed 

Novvte, black cattle 



Q>/ 



o. 



Ochels, name of mountains 

O haith, faith ! an oath 

Ony, or onie, any 

Or, is often used for ere, 
before 

0\ of it 

Ourie, shivering, drooping 

Oursel, or oursels, our- 
selves 

Outlers, cattle not housed 

Ower, over, too 

Owre-hip, a way of fetch- 
ing a blow with the ham- 
mer over the arm. 



Pack, intimate, familiar ; 
twelve stone of wool 

Painch, paunch 

Pairtrick, a partridge 

Pang, to cram 

Parle, speech 

Parritch, oatmeal pudding, 
a well-known Scotch dish 

Pat, did put, a pot 

Pattle or pettle, a plough- 
staff 

Paughty, proud, haughty 

Pauky, or pawkie, cun- 
ning, sly 

Pay% paid, beat 

Pech, to fetch the breath 
short, as in an asthma 

Pechan, the crop, the sto- 
mach 

Peelin, peeling 

Pet, a domesticated sheep 9 
fyc. 

Pettle, to cherish ; aplough 

Phiiibegs, short petticoats 
worn by the Higland~ 
men 

Phraise, fair speeches, flat- 
tery, to flatter * 
X) & 2 



GLOSSARY. 



Phraisin, flattery 

Pibroch, a Highland War 
Song adapted to the bag- 
pipe 

Pickle, a small quantity 

Pine, pain, uneasiness 

Pit, to put 

Placard, a public proclama- 
tion 

Plack, an old Scotch coin, 
the third part of a Scotch 
penny, twelve of which 
make an English penny 

Plackless, pennyless, with- 
out money 

Platie, dimin. of plate 

Plew, or pleugh, a plough 

Pliskie, a trick 

Poind, to seize on cattle, 
or take the goods, as the 
laws of Scotland allow 
for rent 

Poortith, poverty 

Pou, to pull 

Pouk, to pluck 

Poussie, a hare or cat 

Pout, a poult, a chick 

Pou't, did pull 

Pouthery, like powder 

Pow, the head, the skull 

Povvnie, a little horse 

Powther, or pouther, pow- 
der 

Preen, a pin 

Prent, printing 

Prie, to taste 

Prie'd, tasted 

Prief, proof 

Prig, to cheapen, to dispute 

Priggin,, cheapening 

Primsie, demure, precise 

Propone, to lay down, to 
propose 

Provoses, provosts 

Pund, pound, pounds 



Pyle, a pyle o' caff, a single 
grain of chaff 

Q. 

Quat, to quit 
Quak, to quake 
Quey, a cow from one t9 
two years old 

R. 

Ragweed, herb ragwort 

Raible, to rattle nonesense 

Rair, to roar 

Raize, to madden, to in* 
Jlame 

Ram-feezl'd,/af /otmp d, over- 
spread 

Ram-stam, thoughtless, 
forward 

Raploch, properly a coarse 
cloth, but used as an ad- 
noun for coarse 

Rarely, excellently, very 
well 

Rash, a rush ; rash-buss, 
a bush of rushes 

Ratton, a rat 

Raucle, rash, stout, fearless 

Raught, reached 

Raw, a row 

Rax. to .stretch 

Ream, cream, to cream 

Reamin, brimfu Jrothing 

Reave, rove 

Reck, to heed 

Rede, counsel, to counsel 

Red-wat-shod, walking in 
blood over the shoe-tops 

Red-wud, stark mad 

Ree, half drunk, fuddled 

Reek, smoke 

Reekin, smoking 

Reekit, smoked, smoky 

Remead, remedy 

Requite, requitted 



glossaW*. 



Rest, to stand restive 
Restit, stood restive, stunt 

ed, withered 
Restricked, restricted 
Rew, Rue, repent 
Rief, reef, plenty 
Rief randies, sturdy beggars 
Rig, a ridge 
Riii, to run, to melt ; rin- 

nin, running 
Rink, the course of the 

stones , a term in curling 

on ice 
Rip, a handful of unthresh- 

ed corn 
Riskit, made a noise like 

the tearing of roots 
Rockin, spinning on the 

rock, or distaff 
Rood, stands likewisefor 

the plural roods 
Roon, a shred 
Roose, to praise, to com- 
mend 
Roun', round, in the circle 

of neighbourhood 
Roupet, hoarse, as with a 

cold 
Routhie, plentiful 
Row, to roll, to wrap 
Row't, rolled, wrapped 
Rowte, to low, to bellow 
Rowth, or routh, plenty 
Rowtin, lowing 
Rozet, rosin 
Rung, a cudgel 
Runkled, wrinkled 
Runt, the stem of colewort 

or cabbage 
Ruth, a woman's name, the 

book so called ; sorrow 



Sae, so 
Soft, soft 



S. 



Sair, to serve, a sore 

Sairly, or sairlie, sorely 

Sair't, served 

Sark, a shirt 

Sarkit, provided in shirts 

Saugh, the willow 

Saul, soul 

Saumont, salmon 

Saunt, a saint 

Saut, salt 

Saw, to sow 

Sawin, sowing 

Sax, six 

Scaith, to damage, to in- 
jure, injury 

Scar, to scar y a scar 

Scaud, to scald 

Scauld, to scold 

Scaur, apt to be scared 

Scawl, a scold 

Scon, a kind of bread 

Sconner, a loathing, to 
loathe 

Scraich, to scream as a 
hen, partridge, 8$c 

Screed, to tear, a rent 

Scrieve, to glide swiftly 
along 

Scrievin, gleesomely, swift* 

Scrimp, to scant 

Scrimpet, did scant, scanty 

See'd, did see 

Seizin, seizing 

Sei, self ; a body's sel, 

one's self alone 
Sell't, did sell 
Sen', to send 
Sen't, I, he, or she sent, om 

did send, send it 
Servan', servant 
SettJin, settling ; to get a 

settlin, to be frighted 

into quietness 
Sets,, sets off. goes away 
D d 3 



GLOSSARY. 



Shaird, a shred, a shard 

Shangan, a stick cleft at 
one end for putting the 
tail of a dog, fyc. into by 
•way of mischief, or to 
frighten him away 

Shaver, a humorous wag, 
a barber 

Shaw, to shew, a small 
wood in a hollow place. 

Sheen, bright, shining 

Sheep-shank ; to think 
one's self nae sheep- 
shank, to be conceited. 

Sherra-moor, sheriff-moor 
the famous battle fought 
in the Rebellion, A. D. 
1715. 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, 
a sluice. 

Shiel, a shed. 

Shill, shrill 

Shog, a shock, a push off' 
at one side 

Shool, a shovel 

Shoon, shoes 

Shore, to offer, to threaten 

Shor'd, offered 

Shouther, the shoulder 

Sic, such 

Sicker, sure, steady 

Sidelins, sidelong, slanting 

Siller, silver, money 

Simmer, summer 

Sin, a son 

Sin', since 

Skaith, see scaith 

Skellum, a worthlessfolhw 

Skelp, to strike, to slap ; 
to walk with a smart 
tripping step, a smart 
stroke 

Skelpy-limmer, a technical 
term injemale scolding 

Skelpin, stampin, walking 



Skiegh, or Skeigh, proud 9 

nice, high-mettled 
Skinklin, a small portion 
Skirl, to shriek, to cry 

shrilly 
Skirling, shrieking, crying 
Skirl't, shrieked 
Sklent, slant, to run aslant, 

to deviate from truth 
Sklented, ran, or hit, in 

an oblique direction 
Skreigh, a scream, to 

scream 
Slae, sloe 
Slade, did slide 
Slap, a gate, a breach in a 

fence 
Slaw, slow 

Slee, sly ; sleest, slyest 
Sleekit, sleek, sly 
Sliddery, slippery 
Slype, to fall over, as a 

wet furrow from the 

plough 
Slypet,/etf 
Sma\ small 
Smeddum, dust, powder, 

mettle, sense 
Smiddy, a smithy 
Smoor, to smother 
Smoor'd, smothered 
Smoutie, smutty, obscene, 

o **! 

Smytrie, a numerous col- 
lection of small indivi- 
duals 

Snapper, stumble 

Snash, abuse, Billingsgate 

Snaw, snoiv. to snow 

Snaw-broo, melted snow 

Snawie, snowy 

Sneck, latch of a door 

Sned, to lop, to cut off 

Sneeshin, snuff 

Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box 



GLOSSARY. 



Smell, bitter, biting 

Snick-drawing, trick-con- 
triving 

Snick, latchet of a door 

Snool, one whose spirit is 
broken with oppressive 
slavery ; to submit 
tamely, to sneak 

Snoove, to go smoothly 
and constantly, to sneak 

Snovvk, to scent or snuff, 
as a dog, horse, fyc. 

Snowkit, scented, snuffed 

Sonsie, having sweet en- 
gaging looks, lucky, jolly 

Soom, to swim 

Sooth, truth, a petty oath 

Sough, a s gh, a sound 
dying on the ear 

Soapie, flexible, swift 

S outer, a shoemaker 

Sowens, a dish made of 
oatmeal, the seeds of oat- 
meal soured, fyc. boiled 
up till they make an 
agreeable pudding 

Soup, a spoonful, a small 
quantity of any thing 
liquid 

Sowth, to try over a tune 
with a low whistle 

Sowther, solder, to solder, 
to cement 

Spae, t) prophesy, to divine 

Spaul, a limb 

Spairge, to dash, to soil, 
as with mire 

Spaviet, having the spavin 

Speat or spate, a sweeping 
torrent, after rain or 
thaw 

Speel, to climb 

Spence, the country parlour 

Spier, to ask, to inquire 

Spier't, inquired 



Splatter, to splutter 
Spleughan,a tjbacco-pouch 
Spiore, a frolic, noise, riot 
Sprattle, to scramble 
Spreckled, spotted, speckled 
Spring, a quick air in 

music, a Scottish reel 
Sprit, a tough rooted plant, 

something like rushes 
Sprittie, full of sprits 
Spunk, fire, mettle, wit 
Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery ; 

will-o-wisp, or ignis 

fat u us 
Spurtle, a stick used in 

making oat meal pud' 

ding or porridge, a no' 

table Scotch dish 
Squad, a crew, a party 
Squatter, to flutter in water 

as a wild duck, fyc. 
Squattle, to sprawl 
Squeel, a scream, a screech, 

to scream 
Stacher, to stagger 
Stack, a rick of corn, hay, 

Staggie, the diminutive of 

stag 
Stalwart, strong, stout 
Stant', to stand; stan't, 

did stand 
Stane, a stone 
Stank, did stink ; a pool 

of standing water 
Stap, stop 
Stark, stout 
Startle, to run as cattle 

stung by the gad-fly 
Staumrei, a blockhead^ 

half-witted 
Staw, did steal, to surfeit 
Stech, to cram the belly 
Stechin, cramming 
Steek, to shut, a stitch 



GLOSSARY. 



Steer, to molest, to stir 

Steeve,frm, compact 

Stell, a still 

Sten, to rear as a horse 

Sten't, reared 

Stents, tribute, dues of any 
kind 

Stey, steep ; steyest, steep- 
est 

Stibble, stubble ; stibble- 
rig, the reaper in harvest 
who takes the lead 

Stick an stow, totally, al- 
together 

Stite, a crutch ; to halt, to 
limp 

Stimpart, the eighth part 
of a Winchester bushel 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a 
year old 

Stock, a plant or root of 
colewort, cabbage, &c 

Stockin. stocking ; throw- 
ing the stockin', when 
the bride and bridegroom 
are put into bed, and the 
candle out, the former 
throws a stocking at ran- 
dom am >ng the company, 
an I the person whom it 
strikes is the next that 
xvill be ma tied 

Stooked, made up in 
shocks as corn 

Stoor, sounding hollow, 
strong, and hoarse 

Stot. an ox 

Stoup, or stowp, a kind of 
jug or dish with a handle 

Stoure, dust, more parti- 
cularly dust in motion 

Stowlins, by stealth 

Stown, stolen 

Stoyte, stumble 

Struck, did strike 



Strae, straw ; to die a fair 
strae death, to die in bed 

Straik, did strike 

Straikit, stroked 

Strappan, tall and hand- 
some 

Straught, straight 

Streck, stretched, to stretch 

Striddle, to straddle 

Stroan, to spout, to piss 

Studdie, an anvil 

Stumpie, dimin. of stump 

Strunt, spirituous liquor of 
any kind ; to walk 
sturdily 

Stuff, corn or pulse of any 
kind 

Sturt, trouble ; to molest 

Sturtin, frighted 

Sucker, sugar 

Sud. should 

Sugh, the continued rush- 
ing noise of wind or 
water 

Suthron, southern, an old 
name for the English 
nation 

Swaird, sward 

SwalPd, swelled 

Swank, stately, jolly 

Swankie, or swanker, a 
tight stepping young 
fellow or girl 

Swap, an exchange, to bar* 
ter 

Swarf, swoon 

^wat, did sweat 

Swatch, a sample 

Swats, drink, good ale 

Sweaten, sweating 

Sweer, lazy, averse ; dead- 
sweer, extremely averse 

Swoor, swore, did swear 

Swinge, to beat, to ivhip 

SwirJ, a cruve t an eddying- 



GLOSSARY. 



blast, or pool) a knot in 

wood 
Swirlie, knaggy, full of 

knots 
Swith, get away 
S wither, to hesitate in 

choice, an irresolute 

•wavering in choice 
Syne, since } ago, then 



Tackets, a kind of nails 
for driving into the heels 
of shoes 

lae, a toe ; three-tae'd, 
having three prongs 

Tairge, target 

Tak, to take ; takin', tak- 
ing 

Tamtallan, the name of a 
mountain 

Tangle, a sea-weed 

Tap, the top 

Tapetless, heedless, foolish 

Tarrow, to murmur at 
one's allowance 

Tarrow't, murmured 

Tarry-breeks, a sailor 

Tauld, or tald, told 

Taupie, a foolish thought- 
less young person 

Tauted, or tautie, matted 
together ; spoken of hair 
or wool 

Tawie, that allows itself 
peaceably to be handled ; 
spoken of a horse, cow, 

Teat, a small quantity 
Tedding, spreading after 

the mower 
Ten-hours-bite, a slight 
feed to the horses while 
in the yoke, in the fore- 
noon 



Tent, a field pulpit, heed, 
caution, take heed 

Tentie, heedful, cautious 

Tentless, heedless 

Teugh, tough 

Thack, thatch ; thack an* 
rape, clothing necessaries 

Thae, these 

Thairms, small guts, fiddle- 
strings 

Thankit, thanked 

Theekit, thatched 

Thegither, together 

Themsel, themselves 

Thick, intimate, familiar 

Thieveless, cold, dry, spit- 
ed ; spoken qf a per on's 
demeanour 

Thir, these 

Thirl, to thrill 

Thirled, thrilled, vibrated 

Thole, to suffer, to endure 

Thowe, a thaw, to thaw 

Thowless, slack, lazy 

Thrang, throng, a croxvd 

Thrapple, throat, windpipe 

Fhravr, to sprain, to twist, 
to contradict 

Thrawin, twi.ting, fyc. 

Thrawn, sprained, twisted, 
contradicted, contradic- 
tion 

Threap, to maintain by dint 
of assertion 

Threshin, thrashing 

Threteen, thirteen 

Thristle, thistle 

Through, to go on with, to 
make out 

Throuther, pell-mell, con- 
fusedly 

Thud, to make a loud in- 
termittent noise 

Thumpit, thumped 

Thysel, thyself 



GLOSSARY. 



Till't, to it 

Timmer, timber 

Tine, to lose ; tint, lost 

Tinkler, a tinker 

Tint the gate, lost the way 

Tip, a ram 

Tippence, twopence 

Tirl, to make a slight noise, 
to uncover 

Tirlin, uncovering 

Tither, the other 

Tittle, to whisper 

Tittlin, whispering 

Tocher, marriage portion 

Tod, a fox 

Toddle, to totter, like the 
walk of a child 

Toddlin, tottering 

Toom, empty 

Toop, a ram 

Toun, a hamlet, a farm- 
house 

Tout, the blast of a horn 
or trumpet, to blow a 
horn, &c. 

Tow. a rope 

Towmond, a twelvemonth 

Towzie, rough, shaggy 

Toy, a very old fashion of 
female head-dress 

Toyte, to totter like old age 

Transmugrify'd, transmi- 
grated, metamorphosed 

Trashtrie, trash 

Trews, trowsers 

Trickie, full of tricks 

Trig, spruce, neat 

Trimly, excellently 

Trow, to believe 

Trowth, truth, a petty oath 

Trysted, appointed ; to 
tryste, to ma : :e an ap- 
poi t me nt 

Try't, tried 

Tug, raw hide, of which in 



old times plough-traces 
were frequently made 

Tulzie, a quarrel j to quar* 
rel, to fight 

Twa, two 

Twa-three, a few 

'Twad, it would 

Twal, twelve ; twal-pennie 
worth, a small quantity, 
a penny-worth. N. B, 
One penny English fe 
\2d. Scotch. 

Twin, to part 

Tyke, a dog 

U 
Unco, strange, uncouth, 

very, very great, prodi- 

gious 
Uncos, news 
Unkenn'd, unknown 
Unsicker, unsure, unsteady 
Unskaith'd, undamaged, 

unhurt 
Unweeting, unwotting, un~ 

knowingly 
Upo', upon 
Urchin, a hedge-hog 

V 

Vap'rin, vapouring 
Vera, very 

Virl, a ring round a column y 
&c. 

W 

Wa', wall; wa's, walk 
Wabster, a weaver 
Wad, would, to bei, a bet, 

a ptedge 
Wadna, would not 
Wae, woe, sorrowful 
Waesucks ! or waes me ! 

ala* ! the pity 
Waft, the cross thread that 

goes from the shuttle 



6L0SSAAY. 



through the web ; woof 
Waifu\ wailing 
Wair, to lay out, to expend 
Wale, choice, to choose 
WaPd, chose-, chosen 
Walie, ample, large, jolly ; 
also an interjection of 
distress 
Warae, the belly 
Wamefu* a belly full 
Wanchansie, unlucky 
Wanrestfu', restless 
Wark, work 
Wark-lume, a tool to wotk 

with 
Warl, or warld, world 
Warlock, a wizard 
Warly, worldly, eager on 

amassing wealth 
Warran, a warrant, to war- 
rant 
Warst, worst 
Warstl'd or warsPd, wrest- 
led 
Wastrie, prodigality 
Wat, wet, I wat, I wot, / 

know 
Water-brose, brose made 
of meal and water sim- 
ply, without the additions 
of milk, butter, &c. 
Wattle, a twig, a wand 
Wauble, to swing, to reel 
Waught, draught 
Waukit, thickened, as ful- 
lers do cloth 
Waukrife, not apt to sleep 
Waur, worse, to worst 
Waur't, worsted 
Wean ; or Weanie, a child 
Wearie, or weary ; many a 
wearie body, marry a dif- 
ferent person 
Weason, weasand 
Weaving the stocking. — 



See — throwing the stock- 
ing, 
Wee, little ; wee things, 
little ones ; wee bit, a 
small matter 
Weel, well ; weelfare, xvel* 

fare 
Weet, rain, wetness 
Weird, fate 
We'se, we shall 
Wha, who 
Whaizle, to wheeze 
Whalpit, whelped 
Whang, a leathern string, 
a piece of cheese, breads 
&c. to give the strappado 
Whare, where : Whare- 

e'er, wherever 
Wheep, to fly nimbly, to 
jerk ; penny-wheep, 
small beer 
Whase, whose 
Whatreck, nevertheless 
Whid, the motion of a 
hare, running but not 
frighted, a lie 
Whidden, running as a 

hare or coney 
Whigmeleeries, whims, 

fancies, crotchets 
Whingin, crying, complain- 

ing, fretting 
Whirligigums, useless orna- 
ments, trifling append- 
ages 
Whissle, a whistle, to whistle 
Whisht, silence : to hold 
one's whisht, to be silent 
Whisk, to sweep, to lash 
Whiskit, lashed 
W hitter, a hearty draught 

of liquor 
Whun-stane, a whinstone 
Whyles, whiks, sometimes 
Wi', with 



GLOSSARY. 



Wick, to strike a stone in 

an oblique direction, a 

term in curling 
Wicker, willow (the smaller 

sort). 
Wiel, a small whirlpool 
Wifie, a diminutive or en- 

dearing term for wife 
Wimple, to meander 
Wimpl't, meandered 
Wimplin, waving, meander. 

ing 
Win, to win, to winnow 
Win't, winded, as a bottom 

of yarn 
Win', wind; win y s, winds 
Winna, will not 
Winnock, a window 
Winsome, hearty, vaunted, 

Wintle, a staggering mo- 
tion ; to stagger, to reel 

Winze, an oath 

Wiss, to wish 

Withoutten, without 

Wizen'd, hide bound, dried, 
shrunk 

Wonner, a wonder, a con- 
temp' nous appellation 

Wons, die ells 

Woo', zvool 

Woo, to court, to make 
love to 

Woodie, a rope, more pro- 
perly one made of Hit lis 
or willows 

Wooer-bab, the gaiter 
knotted below the knee 
with a couple of loops 

Wordy, worthy 

Worset, worsted 



Wow, an exclamation of 
pleasure or wonder 

Wrack, to teaze, to vex 

Wraith, a spirit, a ghost .• 
an apparition exactly Hie 
a living person, whose 
appearance is said to 
forebode the persons ap- 
proaching death 

Wrang, wrong, to wrong 

Wreeth, a drifted heap of 
snow 

Wud-mad, distracted 

Wumble, a wimble 

Wyle, beguile 

Wyliecoat, a flannel vest 

Wyte, blame, to blame 
Y. 

Ye ; this pronoun is frc* 
quently used for thou 

Yearns, longs much 

Yearlings, born in the 
same year, coevals 

Year, is used both for 
singular and plural years 

Yell, barren, that gives no 
milk 

Yerk, to lash, to jerk 

Yerkh, jerked, lashed 

Yestreen, yesternight 

Yett, a gate, suck as is 
usually at the entrance 
into a f arm-yard orfltld 

Yill, ale 

Yird, earth 

Yokin, yoking, a bout 

Yont, beyond 

Yoursel, yourself 

Yowe, an ewe 

Yowie, dimin. ofyewe 

Yule, Christmas 



Wilson, M'Cormick, & Carkj£> 
Printers, Air, 1819. 



IBFe W 




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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 455 019 5 A! 



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